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Now  Appearing,  Regularly. 

CHOICE  AUTOBIOGRAPHIES. 

EDITED  BY  WILLIAM  D.  HOWELLS. 

"Little  Classic"  Style,    -       -       -    $1,25  a  volume, 

This  series  of  the  best  autobiographies  is  prepared  especially 
for  general  reading.  Each  life  is  prefaced  with  a  critical  and 
biographical  essay  by  Mr.  Howells,  in  which  the  sequel  of  the 
author's  history  is  given,  together  with  collateral  matter  from 
other  sources,  illustrative  of  his  period  and  career.  In  some 
cases  the  autobiographies  are  reduced  in  bulk  by  the  rejection 
of  uninteresting  and  objectionable  matter.  It  is  designed  to 
include  in  the  series  the  famous  autobiographies  of  all  lan- 
guages, and  to  offer  in  a  compact  and  desirable  edition  all  that 
is  best  in  this  most  charming  of  all  literature. 

JAMES  B,  OSGOOD  &  CO,,  Publishers,  Boston, 


A  UTOBIO  GRAPH  Y. 


LIFE 


OP 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI. 


WITH   AN   ESSAY 

BY  WILLIAM  D.  HOWELLS. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES  R.  OSGOOD   AND    COMPANY, 

Late  Ticknor  &  Fields,  and  Fields,  Osgood,  &  Co. 
1877. 


COPYRIGHT. 

W.    D.    HOWELLS. 

1877. 


University  Press :  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co., 
Cambridge. 


VITTORIO    ALPIERI 


,  the  Italian  poet  whom 
his  countrymen  would  undoubtedly  name 
next  after  Dante,  Petrarch,  Ariosto,  and 
Tasso,  and  who,  in  spite  of  his  limitations, 
was  a  man  of  signal  and  distinct  dramatic  genius,  not 
surpassed  if  equalled  since,  is  scarcely  more  than  a 
name  to  most  English  readers.  He  was  born  in  the 
year  1749,  at  Asti,  a  little  city  of  that  Piedmont 
where  there  has  always  been  a  greater  regard  for 
feudal  traditions  than  in  any  other  part  of  Italy ;  and 
he  belonged  by  birth  to  a  nobility  which  is  still  the 
proudest  in  Europe.  "  What  a  singular  country  is 
ours  !  "  said  the  Chevalier  Nigra,  one  of  the  first  diplo- 
mats of  our  time,  who  for  many  years  managed  the 
dolicate  and  difficult  relations  of  Italy  with  France, 
but  who  was  the  son  of  an  apothecary.  "In  Paris 
they  admit  me  everywhere;  I  am  asked  to  court  and 
petted  as  few  Frenchmen  are;  but  here,  in  my  own 
city  of  Turin,  it  would  not  be  possible  for  me  to  be 
received  by  the  Marchioness  Doria."  And  if  this  was 
true  in  the  afternoon  of  the  nineteenth  century,  one 
easily  fancies  what  society  must  have  been  at  Turin  in 
the  forenoon  of  the  eighteenth. 

368 


6  VITTORIO   ALFIERI. 

It  was  in  the  order  of  the  things  of  that  day  and 
country  that  Alfieri  should  Iravr  home  while  a  child 
and  go  to  school  at  the  Academy  of  Turin.  Here,  as 
he  tells  m  that  most  characteristic  and  amusing  auto- 
biography of  his,  he  spent  several  years  in  acquiring 
a  profound  ignorance  of  whatever  he  was  meant  to 
learn ;  and  he  came  away  a  stranger  not  only  to  the 
humanities,  but  to  any  one  language,  speaking  a  bar- 
barous mixture  of  French  and  Piedmontese,  and  read- 
ing little  or  nothing.  Doubtless  he  does  not  spare 
color  in  this  statement,  but  almost  anything  you  like 
could  be  true  of  the  education  of  a  gentleman  as  a 
gentleman  got  it  from  the  Italian  priests  of  the  last 
century.  »  "  We  translated,"  he  says,  "the  Lives  of 
Cornelius  Nepos ;  but  none  of  us,  perhaps  not  even 
the  masters,  knew  who  these  men  were  whose  lives 
we  translated,  nor  where  was  their  country,  nor  in  what 
times  they  lived,  nor  under  what  governments,  nor  what 
any  government  was."  He  learned  Latin  enough  to 
turn  Virgil's  Georgics  into  his  sort  of  Italian ;  but 
when  he  read  Ariosto  by  stealth,  he  atoned  for  his 
transgression  by  failing  to  understand  him.  Yet  Al- 
fieri was  one  of  the  first  scholars  of  that  admirable 
academy,  and  he  really  had  some  impulses  even  then 
towards  literature;  for  he  liked  reading  Goldoni  and 
Metastasio,  though  he  had  never  heard  of  the  name 
of  Tasso.  This  was  whilst  he  was  still  in  the  pri- 
mary classes,  under  strict  priestly  control;  when  he 
passed  to  a  more  advanced  grade,  and  found  himself 
free  to  do  wThat  he  liked  in  the  manner  that  pleased 
him  best,  in  common  with  the  young  Russians,  Ger- 
mans, and  Englishmen  then  enjoying  the  advantages 
of  the  Academy  of  Turin,  he  says  that  being  grounded 
in  no  study,  directed  by.  no  one,  and  not  understanding 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  7 

any  lanirnaire  well,  he  did  not  know  what  study  to 
take  up,  nor  how  to  study.  "  The  reading  of  many 
French  romances,"  In-  goes  on,  "the  constant  associa- 
tion with  foreigners,  and  the  want  of  all  occasion  to 
spi-uk  Italian,  or  to  hear  it  spoken,  drove  from  my 
head  that  small  amount  of  wretched  Tuscan  which  I 
had  contrived  to  put  there  in  those  two  or  three  years 
of  burlesque  study  of  the  humanities  and  asinine  rhet- 
oric. In  place  of  it,"  he  says,  "the  French  entered 
into  my  empty  brain";  but  he  is  careful  to  disclaim 
any  literary  merit  for  the  French  lie  knew,  and  he 
afterwards  came  to  hate  it,  with  everything  else  that 
was  French,  very  bitterly. 

It  was  before  this,  a  little,  that  Alfieri  contrived  his 
first  sonnet,  which,  when  he  read  it  to  the  uncle  with 
whom  he  lived,  made  that  old  soldier  laugh  unmerci- 
fully, so  that  until  his  twenty-fifth  year  the  poet  made 
no  further  attempts  in  verse.  When  he  left  school  he 
spent  three  years  in  travel,  after  the  fashion  of  those 
grand-tour'nii:  days  when  you  had  to  be  a  gentleman 
of  birth  and  fortune  in  order  to  travel,  and  when  you 
journeyed  by  your  own  conveyance  from  capital  to 
capital,  with  letters  to  your  sovereign's  ambassadors 
everywhere,  and  spent  your  money  handsomely  upon 
the  pleasant  dissipations  of  the  countries  through  which 
y<  m  passed.  Alfieri  is  constantly  at  the  tr<  mble  t<  >  have 
us  know  that  he  was  a  very  morose  and  ill-conditioned 
young  animal,  and  the  figure  he  makes  as  a  traveller 
is  no  more  amiable  than  edifying.  He  had  a  ruling 
passion  for  horses,  and  then  several  smaller  passions 
quite  as  wasteful  and  idle.  He  was  driven  from  place 
to  place  by  a  demon  of  unrest,  and  was  mainly  con- 
cerned, after  reaching  a  city,  in  getting  away  from  it 
as  soon  as  he  could.  He  gives  anecdotes  enough  in 


8  VITTORtO   ALFIERI. 

proof  of  this,  and  he  forgets  nothing  that  can  enhance 
the  surprise  of  his  future  literary  greatness.  At  the 
Amhrosian  Lihrary  in  Milan  they  showed  him  a  man- 
uscript of  Petrarch's,  which,  "  like  a  true  barbarian," 
as  he  says,  he  flung  aside,  declaring  that  he  knew 
nothing  about  it,  having  a  rancor  against  this  Petrarch, 
whom  he  had  once  tried  to  read,  and  had  altogether 
failed  to  understand.  At  Rome  the  Sardinian  minister 
innocently  affronted  him  by  repeating  some  verses  of 
Marcellus,  which  the  sulky  young  noble  could  not 
comprehend.  In  Ferrara  he  did  not  remember  that  it 
was  the  city  of  that  divine  Ariosto  whose  poem  was 
the  first  that  came  into  his  hands,  and  which  he  had 
now  read  in  part  with  infinite  pleasure.  "  But  my 
poor  intellect,"  he  says,  "  was  then  sleeping  a  most 
sordid  sleep,  and  every  day^  as  far  as  regards  letters, 
rusted  more  and  more.  It  is  true,  however,  that  with 
respect  to  knowledge  of  the  world  and  of  men,  I  con- 
stantly learned  not  a  little,  without  taking  note  of  it, 
so  many  and  diverse  were  the  phases  of  life  and  man- 
ners that  I  daily  beheld."  At  Florence  he  visited  the 
galleries  and  churches,  with  much  disgust  and  no  feel- 
ing for  the  beautiful,  especially  in  painting^  his  eyes 
being  very  dull  to  color.  u  If  I  liked  anything  better, 
it  was  sculpture  a  little,  and  architecture  yet  a  little 
more  " ;  and  it  is  interesting  to  note  how  all  his  trage- 
dies reflect  these  preferences,  in  their  total  lack  of  color 
and  in  their  sculpturesque  strength  and  sharpness  of 
outline. 

From  Italy  he  passed  as  restlessly  into  France,  yet 
with  something  of  a  more  definite  intention,  for  he 
meant  to  frequent  the  French  theatre.  He  had  seen 
a  company  of  French  players  at  Turin,  and  had  ac- 
quainted himself  with  the  most  famous  French  trage- 


VITTORIC)   ALFIERI.  £ 

dies  and  comedies,  but  with  no  thought  of  writing 
tragedies  of  his  own.  He  felt  no  creative  impulse, 
and  he  liked  the  comedies  best;  though,  as  he  says, 
he  was  by  nature  more  inclined  to  tears  than  to  laugh- 
ter. But  he  does  not  seem  to  have  enjoyed  the  thea- 
tre much  in  Paris,  a  city  for  which  he  conceived  at 
once  the  greatest  dislike,  he  says,  "on  account  of  the 
squalor  and  barbarity  of  the  buildings,  the  absurd  and 
pitiful  pomp  of  the  few  hquses  that  affected  to  be  pal- 
aces, the  filthiness  and  gothicism  of  the  churches,  the 
vandalic  structure  of  the  theatres  of  that  time,  and  the 
many  and  many  and  many  disagreeable  objects  that 
all  day  fell  under  my  notice,  and  worst  of  all  the  un- 
speakably misshapen  and  beplastered  faces  of  those 
ugliest  of  women." 

He  had  at  this  time  already  conceived  that  hatred  of 
kings  which  breathes,  or,  I  may  better  say,  bellows, 
from  his  tragedies ;  and  he  was  enraged  even  beyond 
his  habitual  fury  by  his  reception  at  court,  where  it 
was  etiquette  for  Louis  XV.  to  stare  at  him  from  head 
to  foot  and  give  no  sign  of  having  received  any  im- 
pression whatever. 

In  Holland  he  fell  in  love,  for  the  first  time,  and  as 
was  de  rigueur  in  the  polite  society  of  that  day,  the 
object  of  his  passion  was  another  man's  wife.  In 
England  he  fell  in  love  the  second  time,  and  as  fash- 
ionably as  before.  The  intrigue  lasted  for  months; 
in  the  end  it  came  to  a  duel  with  the  lady's  husband 
and  a  great  scandal  in  the  newspapers ;  but  in  spite  of 
these  displeasures,  Alfieri  liked  everything  in  England. 
u  The  streets,  the  taverns,  the  horses,  the  women, 
the  universal  prosperity,  the  life  and  activity  of  that 
island,  the  cleanliness  and  convenience  of  the  houses, 
though  extremely  little," — as  they  still  strike  every 


10  VITTOKIO   ALFIERI. 

one  coming  from  Italy,  —  these  and  other  charms  of 
"that  fortunate  and  free  country"  made  an  impression 
upon  him  that  never  was  effaced.  He  did  not  at  that 
time,  he  says,  u  study  profoundly  the  constitution, 
mother  of  so  much  prosperity,"  but  he  "  knew  enough 
to  observe  and  value  its  sublime  effects." 

Before  his  memorable  sojourn  in  England,  he  spent 
half  a  year  at  Turin  reading  Rousseau,  among  other 
philosophers,  and  Voltaire,  whose  prose  delighted  and 
whose  verse  wearied  him.  "But  the  book  of  books 
for  me,"  he  says,  "and  the  one  which  that  winter 
caused  me  to  pass  hours  of  bliss  and  rapture,  was  Plu- 
tarch, hisJLives  of  the  truly  great ;  and  some  of  these,  as 
Timoleon,  Caesar,  Brutus,  Pelopidas,  Cato,  and  others, 
I  read  and  read  again,  with  such  a  transport  of  cries, 
tears,  and  fury,  that  if  any  one  had  heard  me  in  the 
next  room  he  would  surely  have  thought  me  mad.  In 
meditating  certain  grand  traits  of  these  supreme  men, 
I  often  leaped  to  my  feet,  agitated  and  out  of  my  senses, 
and  tears  of  grief  and  rage  escaped  me  to  think  that  I 
was  born  in  Piedmont,  and  in  a  time  and  under  a  gov- 
ernment where  no  high  thing  could  be  done  or  said ; 
and  it  was  almost  useless  to  think  or  feel  it." 

These  characters  had  a  life-long  fascination  for  Al- 
fieri,  and  his  admiration  of  such  types  deeply  influenced 
his  tragedies.  So  great  was  his  scorn  of  kings  at  the 
time  he  writes  of,  that  he  despised  even  those  who  liked 
them,  and  poor  little  Metastasio,  who  lived  by  the 
bounty  of  Maria  Theresa,  fell  under  Alfieri's  bitterest 
contempt  when  in  Vienna  he  saw  his  brother-poet  be- 
fore the  empress  in  the  imperial  gardens  at  Schon- 
brunn,  "  performing  the  customary  genuflexions  with 
a  servilely  contented  and  adulatory  face."  This  loath- 
ing of  royalty  was  naturally  intensified  beyond  utter- 


VITTOKIO   ALFIERI.  11 

ance  in  Prussia.  "  On  entering  the  states  of  Frederick, 
I  felt  redoubled  and  triplicated  my  hate  for  that  infa- 
mous military  trade,  most  infamous  and  sole  base 
of  arbitrary  power."  lie  told  his  minister  that  he 
would  be  presented  only  in  civil  dress,  because  there 
were  uniforms  enough  at  that  court,  and  he  declares 
that  on  beholding  Frederick  he  felt  "no  emotion  of 
wonder  or  of  respect,  but  rather  of  indignation  and 

rage The  king  addressed  me  the  three  or  four 

customary  words;  I  fixed  my  eyes  respectfully  upon 
his,  and  inwardly  blessed  Heaven  that  I  had  not  been 
born  his  slave ;  and  I  issued  from  that  universal  Prus- 
sian barracks  ....  abhorring  it  as  it  deserved." 

In  Paris  Alfieri  bought  the  principal  Italian  authors, 
which  he  afterwards  carried  everywhere  with  him  on 
his  travels ;  but  he  says  that  he  made  very  little  use  of 
them,  having  neither  the  will  nor  the  power  to  apply  his 
mind  to  anything.  In  fact,  he  knew  very  little  Italian, 
most  of  the  authors  in  his  collection  were  strange  to 
him,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty-two  he  had  read  nothing 
whatever  of  Dante,  Petrarch,  Tasso,  Boccaccio,  or 
Machiavelli. 

He  made  a  journey  into  Spain,  among  other  coun- 
tries, where  he  admired  the  Andalusian  horses,  and 
bored  himself  as  usual  with  what  interests  educated 
people:  and  he  signalized  his  stay  at  Madrid  by  a 
murderous  outburst  of  one  of  the  worst  tempers  in  the 
world.  One  night  his  servant  Elia,  in  dressing  his 
hair,  had  the  misfortune  to  twitch  one  of  his  locks  in 
such  a  way  as  to  give  him  a  slight  pain ;  on  which 
Alfieri  leaped  to  his  feet,  seized  a  heavy  candlestick, 
and  without  a  word  struck  the  valet  such  a  blow  upon 
his  temple  that  the  blood  gushed  out  over  his  face,  and 
over  the  person  of  a  young  Spaniard  who  had  been 


12  yiTTORIO   ALFIERI. 

supping  with  Alfieri.  Elia  sprang  upon  his  master, 
who  drew  his  sword,  but  the  Spaniard  after  great 
ado  quieted  them  both;  "  and  so  ended  this  horrible 
encounter,"  says  Alfieri,  "  for  which  I  remained  deeply 

afflicted  and  ashamed I  told  Elia  that  he  would 

have  done  well  to  kill  me  j  and  he  was  the  man  to 
have  done  it,  being  a  palm  taller  than  myself,  who  am 
very  tall,  and  of  a  strength  and  courage  not  inferior  to 
his  height.  ....  Two  hours  later,  his  wound  being 
dressed  and  everything  put  in  order,  I  went  to  bed, 
leaving  the  door  from  my  room  into  Elia's  open  as 
usual,  without  listening  to  the  Spaniard,  who  warned 
me  not  thus  to  invite  a  provoked  and  outraged  man  to 
vengeance  :  I  called  to  Elia,  who  had  already  gone  to 
bed,  that  he  could,  if  he  liked  and  thought  proper,  kill 
me  that  night,  for  I  deserved  it.  But  he  was  no  less 
heroic  than  I,  and  would  take  no  other  revenge  than  to 
keep  two  handkerchiefs,  which  had  been  drenched  in 
his  blood,  and  which  from  time  to  time  he  showed  me 
in  the  course  of  many  years.  This  reciprocal  mixture 
of  fierceness  and  generosity  on  both  our  parts  will  not 
be  easily  understood  by  those  who  have  had  no  expe- 
rience of  the  customs  and  of  the  temper  of  us  Pied- 
montese  "  ;  though  here,  perhaps,  Alfieri  does  his  coun- 
try too  much  honor  in  making  his  ferocity  a  national 
trait. 

When  at  last  he  went  back  to  Turin,  he  fell  once 
more  into  his  old  life  of  mere  vacancy,  varied  before 
long  by  an  unworthy  amour,  of  which  he  tells  us  that 
he  finally  cured  himself  by  causing  his  servant  to  tie 
him  in  his  chair,  and  so  keep  him  a  prisoner  in  his 
own  house.  A  violent  distemper  followed  this  treat- 
ment, which  the  light-moraled  gossip  of  tbe  town  said 
Alfieri  had  invented  exclusively  for  his  own  use ;  many 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  lo 

days  he  lay  in  bed  tormented  by  this  anguish;  but 
when  he  rose  he  was  no  longer  a  slave  to  his  passion. 
Shortly  after,  he  wrote  a  tragedy,  or  a  tragic  dialogue 
rather,  in  Italian  blank  verse,  called  Cleopatra,  which 
was  played  in  a  Turinese  theatre  with  a  success  of 
which  he  tells  us  he  was  at  once  and  always  ashamed. 

Yet  apparently  it  encouraged  him  to  persevere  in 
literature,  his  qualifications  for  tragical  authorship 
being  "  a  resolute  spirit,  very  obstinate  and  untamed, 
a  heart  running  over  with  passions  of  every  kind, 
among  which  predominated  a  bizarre  mixture  of  love 
and  all  its  furies,  and  a  profound  and  most  ferocious 
rage  and  abhorrence  against  all  tyranny  whatsoever ; 
....  a  very  dim  and  uncertain  remembrance  of  vari- 
ous French  tragedies  seen  in  the  theatres  many  years 
before  ;  ....  an  almost  total  ignorance  of  all  the 
rules  of  tragic  art,  and  an  unskilfulness  almost  total  in 
the  divine  and  most  necessary  art  of  writing  and  man- 
aging his  own  language.  "  With  this  stock  in  trade, 
he  set  about  turning  his  Filippo  and  his  Polinice, 
which  he  wrote  first  in  French  prose,  into  Italian 
verse ;  making  at  the  same  time  a  careful  study  of  the 
Italian  poets.  It  was  at  this  period  that  the  poet 
Ossian  was  introduced  to  mankind  by  the  ingenious 
and  self-sacrificing  Mr.  McPherson,  and  Cesarotti's 
translation  of  him  came  into  Alfieri's  hands.  These 
blank  verses  were  the  first  that  really  pleased  him ; 
with  a  little  modification  he  thought  they  would  be  an 
excellent  model  for  the  verse  of  dialogue. 

He  had  now  refused  himself  the  pleasure  of  reading 
French,  and  he  had  nowhere  to  turn  for  tragic  litera- 
ture but  to  the  classics,  which  he  read  in  literal  ver- 
sions while  he  renewed  his  faded  Latin  with  the  help  of 
a  teacher.  But  he  believed  that  his  originality  as  a 


14  V1TTORIO   ALFIERI. 

tragic  author  suffered  from  his  reading,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  read  no  more  tragedies  till  he  had  made  his 
own.  For  this  reason  he  already  had  given  up  Shake- 
speare. "  The  more  that  author  accorded  with  my 
humor  (though  I  very  well  perceived  all  his  defects), 
the  more  I  was  resolved  to  abstain',"  he  tells  us. 

This  was  during  a  literary  sojourn  in  Tuscany, 
whither  he  had  gone  to  accustom  himself  "  to  speak, 
hear,  think,  and  dream  in  Tuscan,  and  not  otherwise, 
evermore."  Here  he  versified  his  first  two  tragedies, 
and  sketched  others,  and  here,  he  says,  u  I  deluged  my 
brain  with  the  verses  of  Petrarch,  of  Dante,  of  Tasso, 
and  of  Ariosto,  convinced  that  the  day  would  infallibly 
come,  in  which  all  these  forms,  phrases,  and  words  of 
others  would  return  from  its  cells,  blended  and  identi- 
fied with  my  own  ideas  and  emotions." 

He  had  now  indeed  entered  with  all  the  fury  of  his 
nature  into  the  business  of  making  tragedies,  which  he 
did  very  much  as  if  he  had  been  making  love.  He 
abandoned  everything  else  for  it,  —  country,  home, 
money,  friends ;  for  having  decided  to  live  henceforth 
only  in  Tuscany,  and  hating  to  ask  and  ask  that  royal 
permission  to  remain  abroad  without  which,  annually 
renewed,  the  Piedmontese  noble  of  that  day  could  not 
reside  out  of  his  own  country,  he  gave  up  his  estates  at 
Asti  to  his  sister,  keeping  for  himself  a  pension  that 
came  to  only  about  half  his  former  income.  The  King 
of  Piedmont  was  very  well,  as  kings  went  in  that  day ; 
and  he  did  nothing  to  hinder  the  poet's  expatriation. 
The  long  period  of  study  and  production  which  followed, 
Alfieri  spent  chiefly  at  Florence,  but  partly  also  at  Rome 
and  Naples. 

It  was  during  this  time  that  he  wrote  and  printed 
the  greater  number  of  his  tragedies;  and  it  was  at 
this  time  also  that  he  formed  that  relation  with  the 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  15 

Countess  of  Albany  which  continued  as  long  as  he 
lived.  The  countess's  husband  was  the  Pretender 
Charles  Edward,  the  last  of  the  English  Stuarts,  who, 
like  all  his  house,  abetted  his  own  evil  destiny,  and  was 
then  drinking  himself  to  death ;  there  were  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  her  union  with  Alfieri  which  would  not 
perhaps  have  beset  a  less  exalted  lady.  When  her 
husband  was  dead,  she  and  Alfieri  were  privately  mar- 
ried. Their  house  became  a  centre  of  fashionable  and 
intellectual  society  in  Florence,  and  to  be  received  in  it 
was  the  best  that  could  happen  to  any  one.  The  rela- 
tion seems  to  have  been  a  sufficiently  happy  one. 
if  not  always  the  perfect  devotion  the  poet  describes  ; 
and  after  Alfieri's  death  the  countess  gave  to  the  painter 
Fabre  "  a  heart  which,"  says  Massimo  d'Azeglio  in  his 
Memoirs,  "  according  to  the  usage  of  the  time,  and 
especially  of  high  society,  felt  the  invincible  necessity 
of  keeping  itself  in  continual  exercise." 

In  1787  the  poet,  went  to  France  to  oversee  the  print- 
ing of  a  complete  edition  of  his  works,  and  five  years 
later  he  found  himself  in  Paris  when  the  Revolution 
was  at  its  height.  The  countess  was  with  him,  and 
after  great  trouble  he  got  passports  for  both,  and  hur- 
ried to  the  city  barrier.  The  National  Guards  stationed 
there  would  have  let  them  pass,  but  a  party  of  drunken 
patriots  coming  up  had  their  worst  fears  aroused  by 
the  sight  of  two  carriages  with  sober  and  decent  people 
in  them,  and  heavily  laden  with  baggage.  While  they 
parleyed  whether  they  had  better  stone  the  equipages,  or 
set  fire  to  them,  Alfieri  leaped  out,  and  a  scene  ensued 
which  placed  him  in  a  very  characteristic  light,  and 
which  enables  us  to  see  him  as  it  were  in  person. 
When  the  patriots  had  read  the  passports,  he  seized 
them,  and,  as  he  says,  "  full  of  disgust  and  rage,  and 


16;  VITTORIO   ALFIERI. 

not  knowing  at  the  moment,  or  in  my  passion  despising 
the  immense  peril  that  attended  us,  I  thrice  shook  my 
passport  in  my  hand,  and  shouted  at  the  top  of  my 
voice,  '  Look  !  Listen !  Alfieri  is  my  name ;  Italian 
and  not  French  ;  tall,  lean,  pale,  red  hair ;  I  am  he ; 
look  at  me  :  I  have  my  passport,  and  I  have  had  it 
legitimately  from  those  who  could  give  it ;  we  wish  to 
pass,  and,  hy  Heaven,  we  will  pass  ! ;  3 

They  passed,  and  two  days  later  the  authorities  that 
had  approved  their  passports  confiscated  the  horses, 
furniture,  and  books  that  Alfieri  had  left  behind  him 
in  Paris,  and  declared  him  and  the  countess  —  both 
foreigners  —  to  be  refugee  aristocrats  ! 

He  established  himself  again  in  Florence,  where,  in 
his  forty-sixth  year,  he  took  up  the  study  of  Greek, 
and  made  himself  master  of  that  literature,  though,  till 
then,  he  had  scarcely  known  the  Greek  alphabet.  The 
chief  fruit  of  this  study  was  a  tragedy  in  the  manner  of 
Euripides,  which  he  wrote  in  secret,  and  which  he  read 
to  a  company  so  polite  that  they  thought  it  really  was 
Euripides  during  the  whole  of  the  first  twro  acts. 

Alfierfs  remaining  years  were  spent  in  study  and  the 
revision  of  his  works,  to  the  number  of  which  he  added 
six  comedies  in  1800.  The  presence  and  domination 
of  the  detested  French  in  Florence  imbittered  his  life 
somewhat ;  but  if  they  had  not  been  there  he  could 
never  have  had  the  pleasure  of  refusing  to  see  the 
French  commandant,  who  had  a  taste  for  literary 
people  if  not  for  literature,  and  would  fain  have  paid 
his  respects  to  the  poet.  He  must  also  have  found  con- 
solation in  the  thought  that  if  the  French  had  become 
masters  of  Europe,  many  kings  had  been  dethroned, 
and  every  tyrant  who  wore  a  crown  was  in  a  very 
pitiable  state  of  terror  or  disaster. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  17 

Nothing  in  Alfieri's  life  was  more  like  him  than  his 
death,  of  which  the  Ahbate  di  Caluso  gives  a  full  ac- 
count in  his  conclusion  of  the  poet's  biography.  His 
malady  was  gout,  and  amidst  its  tortures  he  still 
labored  at  his  comedies.  He  was  impatient  at  being 
kept  in-doors,  and  when  they  added  plasters  on  the 
feet  to  the  irksomeness  of  his  confinement,  he  tore 
away  the  bandages  that  prevented  him  from  walking 
about  his  room.  He  would  not  go  to  bed,  and  they 
gave  him  opiates  to  ease  his  anguish  ;  under  their  in- 
Huence  his  mind  was  molested  by  many  memories  of 
things  long  past.  "  The  studies  and  labors  of  thirty 
years/-  says  the  abbate,  "  recurred  to  him,  and  what 
was  yet  more  wonderful,  he  repeated  in  order  from 
memory  a  good  number  of  Greek  verses  from  the  be- 
ginning of  Hesiod,  which  he  had  read  but  once. 
These  he  said  over  to  the  Signora  Contessa,  who  sat 
by  his  side,  but  it  does  not  appear,  for  all  this,  that 
there  ever  came  to  him  the  thought  that  death,  which 
he  had  been  for  a  long  time  used  to  imagine  near,  was 
then  imminent.  It  is  certain  at  least  that  he  made  no 
sign  to  the  contessa,  though  she  did  not  leave  him  till 
morning.  About  six  o'clock  he  took  oil  and  magnesia 
without  the  physician's  advice,  and  near  eight  he  was 
observed  to  be  in  great  danger,  and  the  Signora  Con- 
tessa, being  called,  found  him  in  agonies  that  took 
away  his  breath.  Nevertheless  he  rose  from  his  chair, 
and,  going  to  the  bed,  leaned  upon  it,  and  presently  the 
day  wras  darkened  to  him,  his  eyes  closed,  and  he  ex- 
pired. The  duties  and  consolations  of  religion  were 
not  forgotten,  but  the  evil  was  not  thought  so  near, 
nor  haste  necessary,  and  so  the  confessor  who  was 
called  did  not  come  in  time."  D'Azeglio  relates  that 
the  confessor  arrived  at  the  supreme  moment,  and  saw 


18  VITTORIO   ALFIERI. 

the  poet  bow  his  head  :  "  He  thought  it  was  a  saluta- 
tion, but  it  was  the  death  of  Vitturio  Alfieri." 

I  once  fancied  that  a  very  close  parallel  between 
Alfieri  and  Byron  might  be  drawn,  but  their  disparities 
are  greater  than  their  resemblances,  on  the  whole. 
Alfieri  seems  the  vastly  sincerer  man  of  the  two,  and 
though  their  lives  were  alike  in  some  lamentable  par- 
ticulars, Alfieri's  life  strikes  me  as  unmoral,  and  Byron's 
^is  immoral.  There  is  an  antique  simplicity  in  Alfieri ; 
Byron  is  the  essence  of  conscious  romanticism,  and 
modern  in  the  worst  sense.  But  both  were  born  noble, 
both  lived  in  voluntary  exile,  both  imagined  themselves 
friends  and  admirers  of  liberty,  both  had  violent,  natures, 
and  both  indulged  the  curious  hypocrisy  of  desiring  to 
seem  worse  than  they  were,  and  of  trying  to  make  out 
a  shocking  case  for  themselves  when  they  could.  They 
were  men  who  hardly  outlived  their  boyishness.  Alfieri, 
indeed,  had  to  struggle  against  so  many  defects  of  train- 
ing that  he  could  not  have  reached  maturity  in  tho 
longest  life.  He  seems  to  have  had  no  principles,  good 
or  bad,  but  only  passions  5  he  hated  with  equal  noisiness 
the  tyrants  of  Europe  and  the  Frenchmen  who  dethroned 
them. 

When  he  left  the  life  of  a  dissolute  young  noble  for 
that  of  tragic  authorship,  he  seized  upon  such  histories 
and  fables  as  would  give  the  freest  course  to  a  harsh, 
narrow,  gloomy,  vindictive,  and  declamatory  nature ; 
and  his  dramas  reproduce  the  terrible  fatalistic  tradi- 
tions of  the  Greeks,  the  stories  of  (Edipus,  Myrrha, 
Alcestis,  Clytemnestra,  Orestes,  and  such  passages  of 
Roman  history  as  those  relating  to  the  Brutuses  and  to 
Virginia.  In  modern  history  he  has  taken  such  char- 
acters and  events  as  those  of  Philip  II.,  Mary  Stuart, 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  19 

Don  Garcia,  and  the  Conspiracy  of  the  Pazzi.  Two  of 
his  tragedies  are  from  the  Bible,  the  Abel  and  the  Saul; 
one,  the  Ilosmunda,  from  Lougobardic  history.  And 
these  themes,  varying  so  vastly  as  to  the  times,  races, 
and  religions  with  which  they  originated,  are  all  treated 
in  the  same  spirit,  —  the  spirit  Alfieri  believed  Greek. 
Their  interest  comes  from  the  situations  and  events ; 
of  character,  as  we  have  it  in  the  romantic  drama,  and 
supremely  in  Shakespeare,  there  is  scarcely  anything ; 
and  the  language  is  shorn  of  all  metaphor  and  pictur- 
esque expression.  Of  course  their  form  is  wholly  unlike 
that  of  the  romantic  drama ;  Alfieri  holds  fast  by  the 
famous  unities  as  the  chief  and  saving  grace  of  tragedy. 
All  his  actions  take  place  within  twenty-four  hours ; 
there  is  no  change  of  scene,  and  so  far  as  he  can  master 
that  most  obstinate  unity,  the  unity  of  action,  each  piece 
is  furnished  with  a  tangible  beginning,  middle,  arid 
ending.  The  wide  stretches  of  time  which  the  old 
Spanish  and  English  and  all  modern  dramas  cover,  and 
their  frequent  transitions  from  place  to  place,  were 
impossible  and  abhorrent  to  him. 

Schlegel,  in  his  lectures  on  dramatic  literature,  blames 
Alfieri  as  one  whose  style  was  wanting  in  imagery  and 
whose  characters  in  fancy ;  who  made  his  Italian  stiff 
and  brittle  in  trying  to  make  it  strong,  and  whose  verse 
is  harsh  and  unmusical.  According  to  the  German  he 
paints  naked  and  general  ideas  in  unrelieved  black  and 
white;  his  villains  are  too  openly  villanous,  his  virtuous 
persons  unlovely  ;  he  forgets,  in  casting  aside  grace  and 
ornament  for  the  sake  of  the  moral  effect,  that  a  poet 
cannot  teach  except  by  pleasing ;  his  tragedies  are  not 
Greek  at  all,  and  not  comparable  with  the  best  French 
tragedies;  he  depicts  tyrants  with  the  colors  of  the 
school  rhetoricians ;  he  fails  with  modem  subjects 


20  VITTORIO   ALFIERI. 

because  his  ideal  of  the  tragic  forbids  a  local  and  deter- 
minate presentation ;  the  Greek  subjects  lose  their 
heroic  magnificence  in  his  hands,  and  take  a  modern, 
almost  vulgar  air.  He  manages  best  the  public  life  of 
the  Romans,  and  it  is  a  great  merit  of  his  Virginia  that 
the  scene  is  in  the  forum,  and  partly  before  the  eyes 
of  the  people.  At  other  times,  in  his  anxiety  to  observe 
the  unity  of  scene,  he  places  his  action  in  some  out-of- 
the-way  corner,  whither  come  only  persons  in  difficulties. 
He  strips  his  kings  and  heroes  of  external  pomp,  and 
the  world  around  them  seems  depopulated. 

In  many  respects  I  think  this  all  just  enough  5  but  I 
find  AlfieriV  Greek  tragedies  far  from  vulgar.  They 
have  a  grandeur  quite  independent  of  the  graces  which 
Schlegel  supposes  necessary  to  poetry,  and  they  are  not 
wanting  in  very  delicate  touches  of  pathos.  On  the 
other  hand,  I  do  not  care  for  his  Roman  tragedies,  or 
Tragedies  of  Liberty,  as  he  calls  them,  which  weary 
you  with  their  windy  tirades  against  tyrants. 

It  is  equally  hard  to  agree  in  all  things  with  Emiliani- 
Giudici,  the  Italian  critic,  who  most  disagrees  with 
Schlegel,  and  who,  writing  about  the  middle  of  our 
century,  declares  that  when  the  fiery  love  of  freedom 
shall  have  purged  Italy,  the  Alfierian  drama  will  be  the 
only  representation  worthy  of  a  great  and  free  people. 
This  critic  holds  that  Alfieri?s  tragical  ideal  was  of  such 
a  simplicity  that  it  would  seem  derived  regularly  from 
the  Greek,  but  for  the  fact  that  when  he  felt  irresistibly 
moved  to  write  tragedy,  he  probably  did  not  know  even 
the  names  of  the  Greek  dramatists,  and  could  not  have 
known  the  structure  of  their  dramas  by  indirect  means, 
having  read  then  only  some  Metastasian  plays  of  the 
French  school ;  so  that  he  created  that  ideal  of  his  by 
pure,  instinctive  force  of  genius.  With  him,  as  with 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  21 

the  Greeks,  art  arose  spontaneously ;  he  felt  the  form 
of  Greek  art  by  inspiration.  He  believed  from  the  very 
first  that  the  dramatic,  poet  should  assume  to  render  the 
spectators  unconscious  of  theatrical  artifice,  and  make 
them  take  pail  with  the  actors ;  and  he  banished  from 
the  scene  everything  that  could  diminish  their  illusion ; 
he  would  not  mar  the  intensity  of  the  effect  by  changing 
the  action  from  place  to  place,  or  by  compressing  within 
the  brief  time  of  the  representation  the  events  of  months 
and  years.  To  achieve  the  unity  of  action,  he  dispensed 
with  all  those  parts  which  did  not  seem  to  him  the  most 
principal,  and  he  studied  how  to  show  the  subject  of 
the  drama  in  the  clearest  light.  In  all  this  he  went  to 
the  extreme,  but  he  so  wrought  "  that  the  print  of  his 
cothurnus  stamped  upon  the  field  of  art  should  remain 
forever  singular  and  inimitable.  Reading  his  tragedies 
in  order,  from  the  Cleopatra  to  the  Saul,  you  see  how 
he  never  changed  his  tragic  ideal,  but  discerned  it  more 
and  more  distinctly  until  he  fully  realized  it.  ^Eschylus 
and  Alfieri  are  two  links  that  unite  the  chain  in  a  circle. 
In  Alfieri  art  once  more  achieved  the  faultless  purity 
of  its  proper  character ;  Greek  tragedy  reached  the  same 
height  in  the  Italian's  Saul  that  it  touched  in  the  Greek's 
Prometheus,  two  dramas  which  are  perhaps  the  most 
gigantic  creations  of  any  literature."  Emiliani-Giudici 
thinks  that  the  literary  ineducation  of  Alfieri  was  the 
principal  exterior  cause  of  this  prodigious  development, 
that  a  more  regular  course  of  study  would  have  restrained 
his  creative  genius,  and,  while  smoothing  the  way  be- 
fore it,  would  have  subjected  it  to  methods  and  robbed 
it  of  originality  of  feeling  and  conception.  "  Tragedy, 
born  sublime,  terrible,  vigorous,  heroic,  the  life  of  lib- 
erty, ....  was,  as  it  were,  redeemed  by  Vittorio  Alfieri, 
reassumed  the  masculine,  athletic  forms  of  its  original 


22  VITTORIO   ALFIE1U. 

existence,  and  recommenced  the  exercise  of  its  lost 
ministry." 

I  do  not  begin  to  think  this  is  all  true.  Alfieri  him- 
self owns  his  acquaintance  with  the  French,  theatre 
before  the  time  when  he  began  to  write,  and  we  must 
believe  that  he  got  at  least  some  of  his  ideas  of  Athens 
from  Paris,  though  he  liked  the  Frenchmen  none  the 
better  for  his  obligation  to  them.  A  less  mechanical 
conception  of  the  Greek  idea  than  his  would  have  pre- 
vented its  application  to  historical  subjects.  In  Alfieri's 
Brutus  the  First,  a  far  greater  stretch  of  imagination  is 
required  from  the  spectator  in  order  to  preserve  the 
unities  of  time  and  place  than  the  most  capricious 
changes  of  scene  would  have  asked.  The  scene  is  al- 
ways in  the  forum  in  Rome ;  the  action  occurs  within 
twenty-four  hours.  During  this  limited  time,  we  see 
the  body  of  Lucretia  borne  along  in  the  distance; 
Brutus  harangues  the  people  with  the  bloody  dagger 
in  his  hand.  The  emissaries  of  Tarquin  arrive  and 
organize  a  conspiracy  against  the  new  republic;  the 
sons  of  Brutus  are  found  in  the  plot,  and  are  convicted 
and  put  to  death. 

But  such  incongruities  as  these  do  not  affect  us  in 
the  tragedies  based  on  the  heroic  fables ;  here  the  poet 
takes  without  offence  any  liberty  he  likes  with  time 
and  place ;  the  whole  affair  is  in  his  hands,  to  do  what 
he  will  so  long  as  he  respects  the  internal  harmony  of 
his  own  work.  For  this  reason  I  think  we  find  Alfieri 
at  his  best  in  these  tragedies,  among  which  I  have 
liked  the  Orestes  best,  as  giving  the  widest  range  of 
feeling  with  the  greatest  vigor  of  action.  The  Aga- 
memnon, which  precedes  it,  and  which  ought  to  be  read 
first,  closes  with  its  most  powerful  scene.  Agamemnon 
has  returned  from  Troy  to  Argos  with  his  captive 


VITTORIO   ALFIEPJ.  23 

Cassandra,  and  ^Egisthus  has  persuaded  Clytemnestra 
that  her  husband  intends  to  raise  Cassandra  to  the 
throne.  She  kills  him  and  reigns  with  JEgisthus, 
Electra  concealing  Orestes  on  the  night  of  the  murder, 
and  sending  him  secretly  away  with  Strophius,  King 
of  Phocis. 

In  the  last  scene,  as  Clytemnestra  steals  through  the 
darkness  to  her  husband's  chamber,  she  soliloquizes, 
with  the  dagger  in  her  hand :  — 

It  is  the  hour  ;  and  sunk  in  slumber  now 

Lies  Agamemnon.     Shall  he  nevermore 

Open  his  eyes  to  the  fair  light  ?     My  hand, 

Once  pledge  to  him  of  stainless  love  and  faith, 

Is  it  to  be  the  minister  of  his  death  ? 

Did  I  swear  that?     Ay,  that ;  and  I  must  keep 

My  oath.     Quick,  let  me  go  !     My  foot,  heart,  hand  — 

All  over  I  tremble.     0,  what  did  I  promise  ? 

Wretch  !  what  do  I  attempt  ?     How  all  my  courage 

Hath  vanished  from  me  since  ^Egisthus  vanished ! 

I  only  see  the  immense  atrocity 

Of  this  my  horrible  deed  ;  I  only  see 

The  bloody  spectre  of  Atrides  !     Ah, 

In  vain  do  I  accuse  thee.     No,  thou  lovest 

Cassandra  not.     Me,  only  me,  thou  lovest, 

Unworthy  of  thy  love.     Thou  hast  no  blame, 

Save  that  thou  art  my  husband,  in  the  world ! 

0  Heaven  !  Atrides,  thou  sent  from  the  arms 

Of  trustful  sleep,  to  death's  arms  by  my  hand  ? 

And  where  then  shall  I  hide  me?     O  perfidy ! 

Can  I  e'er  hope  for  peace?     O  woful  life,— 

Life  of  remorse,  of  madness,  and  of  tears  !  .  .  .  . 

How  shall  jEgisthus,  even  ^Egisthus,  dare 

To  rest  beside  the  parricidal  wife 

Upon  her  murder-stained  marriage-bed, 

Nor  tremble  for  himself?     Away,  away,  — - 


24  VITTORIO   ALFIERL 

Hence,  horrible  instrument  of  all  my  guilt 

And  harm,  thou  execrable  dagger,  hence ! 

I  '11  lose  at  once  my  lover  and  my  life, 

But  not  by  this  hand  slain  shall  fall 

So  great  a  hero  !     Live,  honor  of  Greece 

And  Asia's  terror  i     Live  to  glory,  live 

To  thy  dear  children,  and  a  better  wife  ! 

—  But  what  are  these  hushed  steps  ?     Into  these  rooms 

Who  is  it  comes  by  night  ?     ^Egisthus  ?  —  Lost,  I  am  lost ! 

^GISTHUS.    Hast  thou  not  done  the  deed  ? 

CLY.  ^Egisthus  — 

JEg.    "What,  stand'st  thou  here,  wasting  thyself  in  tears  ? 
"Woman,  untimely  are  thy  tears ;  't  is  late, 
'T  is  vain,  and  it  may  cost  us  dear ! 

CLY.    v  Thou  here! 

But  how  —  woe  's  me,  what  did  I  promise  thee  ? 
What  wicked  counsel  — 

jEo.  Was  it  not  thy  counsel? 

Love  gave  it  thee  and  fear  annuls  it  —  well ! 
Since  thou  repentest,  I  am  glad  ;  and  glad 
To  know  thee  guiltless  shall  I  be  in  death. 
I  told  thee  that  the  enterprise  was  hard, 
But  thou,  unduly  trusting  in  the  heart, 
That  hath  not  a  man's  courage  in  it,  chose 
Thyself  thy  feeble  hands  to  strike  the  blow. 
Now  may  Heaven  grant  that  the  intent  of  evil 
Turn  not  to  harm  thee !     Hither  I  by  stealth 
And  favor  of  the  darkness  have  returned, 
Unseen,  I  hope.     For  I  perforce  must  come 
Myself  to  tell  thee  that  irrevocably 
My  life  is  dedicated  to  the  vengeance 
Of  Agamemnon. 

He  appeals  to  her  pity  for  him,  and  her  fear  for  her- 
self; he  reminds  her  of  Agamemnon's  consent  to  the 
sacrifice  of  Iphigenia,  and  goads  her  on  to  the  crime 


VITTOKIO   ALFIERI.  25 

from  which  she  had  recoiled.     She  goes  into  Aga- 
memnon's  chamber,   whence  his  dying   outcries  are 

heard :  — 

O  treachery ! 
Thou,  wife  ?     0  heavens,  I  die !     0  treachery  ! 

Clytemnestra  comes  out  with  the  dagger  in  her 
hand :  — 

The  dagger  drips  with  blood  ;  my  hands,  my  robe, 

My  face,  —  they  all  are  wet  with  blood.     What  vengeance 

Shall  yet  be  taken  for  this  blood !     Already 

I  see  this  very  steel  turned  on  my  breast, 

And  by  whose  hand ! 

The  son  whom  she  forebodes  as  the  avenger  of  Aga- 
memnon's death  passes  his  childhood  and  early  youth 
at  the  court  of  Strophius  in  Phocis.  The  tragedy 
named  for  him  opens  with  Electra's  soliloquy  as  she 
goes  to  weep  at  the  tomb  of  their  father :  — 

Night,  gloomy,  horrible,  atrocious  night, 
Forever  present  to  my  thought,  each  year 
For  now  two  lustres  I  have  seen  thee  come, 
Clothed  on  with  darkness  and  with  dreams  of  blood, 
And  blood  that  should  have  expiated  thine 
Is  not  yet  spilt !     O  memory,  O  sight ! 

0  Agamemnon,  hapless  father,  here 
Upon  these  stones  I  saw  thee  murdered  lie, 
Murdered,  and  by  what  hand !  .  .  .  . 

I  swear  to  thee, 

If  I  in  Argos,  in  thy  palace  live, 
Slave  of  yEgisthus,  with  my  wicked  mother 
Nothing  makes  me  endure  a  life  like  this 
Saving  the  hope  of  vengeance.     Far  away 
Orestes  is  ;  but  living!     I  saved  thee,  brother; 

1  keep  myself  for  thee,  till  the  day  rise 

When  thou  shalt  make  to  stream  upon  yon  tomb 
Not  helpless  tears  like  these,  but  our  foe's  blood. 


26  VITTORIO  ALFIERI. 

While   Electra  fiercely  muses,  Clytemnestra  enters 
with  the  appeal :  - 

CLY.   Daughter ! 

EL.  What  voice  !    0  Heaven,  thou  here  ? 

CLY.  My  daughter, 

Ah,  do  not  fly  me !     Thy  pious  task  I  fain 
"Would  share  with  thee.     JEgisthus  in  vain  forhids, 
He  shall  not  know.     Ah,  come,  go  we  together 
Unto  the  tornh. 

EL.  Whose  tomb  ? 

CLY.  Thy  —  hapless  —  father's. 

EL.    Wherefore  not  say  thy  husband's  tomb  ?     'T  is  well : 
Thou  darest  not  speak  it.     But  how  dost  thou  dare 
Turn  thitherward  thy  steps,  —  thou  that  dost  reek 
Yet  with  iiis  blood  ? 

CLY.  Two  lustres  now  are  passed 

Since  that  dread  day,  and  two  whole  lustres  now 
I  weep  my  crime. 

EL.  And  what  time  were  enough 

For  that  ?     Ah,  if  thy  tears  should  be  eternal, 
They  yet  were  nothing.     Look  !     Seest  thou  not  still 
The  blood  upon  these  horrid  walls,  —  the  blood 
That  thou  didst  splash  them  with  ?     And  at  thy  presence 
Lo,  how  it  reddens  and  grows  quick  again ! 
Fly  thou,  whom  I  must  nevermore  call  mother ! 

CLY.    O,  woe  is  me  !    What  can  I  answer  ?   Pity  — 
But  I  merit  none  !  —  And  yet  if  in  my  heart, 
Daughter,  thou  couldst  but  read  —  ah,  who  could  look 
Into  the  secret  of  a  heart  like  mine, 
Contaminated  with  such  infamy, 
And  not  abhor  me  ?    I  blame  not  thy  wrath, 
No,  nor  thy  hate.     On  earth  I  feel  already 
The  guilty  pangs  of  hell.     Scarce  had  the  blow 
Escaped  my  hand  before  a  swift  remorse, 
Swift  but  too  late,  fell  terrible  upon  me. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  27 

From  that  hour  still  the  sanguinary  ghost 

By  day  and  night,  and  ever  horrible, 

Hath  moved  before  mine  eyes.     Where'er  I  turn 

I  see  its  bleeding  footsteps  trace  the  path 

That  I  must  follow ;  at  table,  on  the  throne, 

It  sits  beside  me  ;  on  my  bitter  pillow 

If  e'er  it  chance  I  close  mine  eyes  in  sleep, 

The  spectre  —  fatal  vision  !  —  instantly 

Shows  itself  in  my  dreams,  and  tears  the  breast, 

Already  mangled,  with  a  furious  hand, 

And  thence  draws  both  its  palms  full  of  dark  blood, 

To  dash  it  in  my  face  !    On  dreadful  nights 

Follow  more  dreadful  days.     In  a  long  death 

I  live  my  life.     Daughter, — whate'er  I  am, 

Thou  art  my  daughter  still,  —  dost  thou  not  weep 

At  tears  like  mine  ? 

Clytemnestra  confesses  that  ^Egisthns  no  longer  loves 
her,  but  she  loves  him,  and  she  shrinks  from  Electra's 
fierce  counsel  that  she  shall  kill  him.  He  enters  to  find 
her  in  tears,  and  a  violent  scene  between  him  and 
Electra  follows,  in  which  Clytemnestra  interposes. 

CLY.    0  daughter,  he  is  my  husband.     Think,  ^Egisthus, 
She  is  my  daughter. 

jEo.  She  is  Atrides'  daughter ! 

EL.   He  is  Atrides'  murderer  ! 

CLY.  Electra ! 

Have  pity,  jEgisthus  !    Look  — the  tomb  !    0,  look, 
The  horrible  tomb  !  —  and  art  thou  not  content  ? 

/EG.   Woman,  be  less  unlike  thyself.     Atrides, — 
Tell  me  by  whose  hand  in  yon  tomb  he  lies? 

CLY.   O  mortal  blame  !    What  else  is  lacking  now 
To  my  unhappy,  miserable  life  ? 
Who  drove  me  to  it  now  upbraids  my  crime ! 

EL.    O  marvellous  joy !    O  only  joy  that 's  blessed 
My  heart  in  these  ten  years !    I  see  you  both 


28  VITTORIO  ALFIERI. 

At  last  the  prey  of  anger  and  remorse ; 

I  hear  at  last  what  must  the  endearments  be 

Of  love  so  blood-stained. 

The  first  act  closes  with  a  scene  between  ^Egisthus 
and  Clytemnestra,  in  which  he  urges  her  to  consent 
that  he  shall  send  to  have  Orestes  murdered,  and  re- 
minds her  of  her  former  crimes  when  she  revolts  from 
this.  The  scene  is  very  well  managed,  with  that 
frugality  of  phrase  which  in  Alfieri  is  quite  as  apt  to  he 
touchingly  simple  as  hare  and  poor.  In  the  opening 
scene  of  the  second  act,  Orestes  has  returned  in  disguise 
to  Argos  with  Pylades,  the  son  of  Strophius,  to  whom 
he  speaks :  — 

We  are  come  at  last.     Here  Agamemnon  fell, 
Murdered,  and  here  ^Egisthus  reigns.     Here  rose 
In  memory  still,  though  I  a  child  departed, 
These  natal  walls,  and  the  just  Heaven  in  time 
Leads  me  back  hither. 

Twice  five  years  have  passed 
This  very  day  since  that  dread  night  of  blood, 
"When,  slain  by  treachery,  my  father  made 
The  whole  wide  palace  with  his  dolorous  cries 
Echo  again.     O,  well  do  I  remember ! 
Electra  swiftly  bore  me  through  this  hall 
Thither  where  Strophius  in  his  pitying  arms 
Received  me,  —  Strophius,  less  by  far  thy  father 
Than  mine,  thereafter, — and  fled  onward  with  me 
By  yonder  postern -gate,  all  tremulous  ; 
And  after  me  there  ran  upon  the  air 
Long  a  wild  clamor  and  a  lamentation 
That  made  me  weep  and  shudder  and  lament, 
I  knew  not  why,  and  weeping  Strophius  ran, 
Forbidding  with  his  hand  my  outcries  shrill, 
Clasping  me  close,  and  sprinkling  all  my  face 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  29 

With  bitter  tears ;  and  to  the  lonely  coast, 
Where  only  now  we  lauded,  with  his  charge 
He  came  apace  ;  and  eagerly  unfurled 
His  sails  before  the  wind. 

Pylades  strives  to  restrain  the  passion  for  revenge  in 
Orestes,  which  scarcely  brooks  the  control  of  prudence, 
and  imperils  them  both.  The  friend  proposes  that 
they  shall  feign  themselves  messengers  sent  by  Stro- 
phius  with  tidings  of  Orestes'  death,  and  Orestes  has 
reluctantly  consented,  when  Electra  reappears,  and 
they  recognize  each  other.  Pylades  discloses  their 
plan,  and  when  her  brother  urges,  u  The  means  is 
-vile,"  she  answers,  all  woman,  — 

Less  vile  than  is  ^Egisthus.     There  is  none 

Better  or  surer,  none,  believe  me.     When 

You  are  led  to  him,  let  it  be  mine  to  think 

Of  all  —  the  place,  the  manner,  time,  and  arms, 

To  kill  him.     Still  I  keep,  Orestes,  still 

I  keep  the  steel  that  in  her  husband's  breast 

She  plunged  whom  nevermore  we  might  call  mother. 

ORESTES.    How  fares  it  with  that  impious  woman  ? 

EL.  Ah, 

Thou  canst  not  know  how  she  drags  out  her  life  ! 
Save  only  Agamemnon's  children,  all 
Must  pity  her  —  and  even  we  must  pity. 
Full  ever  of  suspicion  and  of  terror, 
And  held  in  scorn  even  by  ^gisthus'  self, 
Loving  ^Egisthus  though  she  kiioAv  his  guilt ; 
Repentant,  and  yet  ready  to  renew 
Her  crime,  perchance,  if  the  unworthy  love 
Which  is  her  shame  and  her  abhorrence,  would; 
Now  wife,  now  mother,  never  wife  nor  mother, 
Bitter  remorse  gnaws  at  her  heart  by  day 
Unceasingly,  and  horrible  shapes  by  night 
Scare  slumber  from  her  eyes.  —  So  fares  it  with  her. 


30  VITTORIO   ALFIERI. 

In  the  third  scene  of  the  following  act  Clytemnestra 
meets  Orestes  and  Pylades,  who  announce  themselves 
as  messengers  from  Phocls  to  the  king ;  she  bids  them 
deliver  their  tidings  to  her,  and  they  finally  do  so, 
Pylades  struggling  to  prevent  Orestes  from  revealing 
himself.  There  are  touchingly  simple  and  natural 
passages  in  the  lament  that  Clytemnestra  breaks  into 
over  her  son's  death,  and  there  is  fire,  with  its  true 
natural  extinction  in  tears,  when  she  upbraids  -^Egis- 
thus,  who  now  enters :  — 

My  fair  fame  and  my  husband  and  my  peace, 
My  only  son  beloved,  I  gave  thee  all. 

All  that  I  gave  thou  didst  account  as  nothing 

"While  aught  remained  to  take.     Who  ever  saw 

At  once  so  cruel  and  so  false  a  heart  ? 

The  guilty  love  that  thou  didst  feign  so  ill 

And  I  believed  so  well,  what  hindrance  to  it, 

"What  hindrance,  tell  me,  was  the  child  Orestes  ? 

Yet  scarce  had  Agamemnon  died  before 

Thou  didst  cry  out  for  his  son's  blood ;  and  searched 

Through  all  the  palace  in  thy  fury.     Then 

The  blade  thou  durst  not  wield  against  the  father, 

Then  thou  didst  brandish.     Ay,  bold  wast  thou  then 

Against  a  helpless  child !  .  .  .  . 

Unhappy  son,  what  booted  it  to  save  thee 

From  thy  sire's  murderer,  since  thou  hast  found 

Death  ere  thy  time  in  strange  lands  far  away. 

jEgisthus,  villanous  usurper !     Thou, 

Thou  hast  slain  my  son  !  ./Egisthus  —  0,  forgive  ! 

I  was  a  mother,  and  am  so  no  more. 

Throughout  this  scene,  and  in  the  soliloquy  pre- 
ceding it,  Alfieri  paints  very  forcibly  the  struggle  in 
Clytemnestra  between  her  love  for  her  son  and  her 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  31 

love  for  .^Egisthus,  to  whom  she  clings  even  while  he 
exults  in  the  tidings  that  wring  her  heart.  It  is  all 
too  boldly  presented,  doubtless,  but  it  is  very  effective 
and  affecting. 

Orestes  and  Pylades  are  now  brought  before  ,<Egis- 
thus,  and  he  demands  how  and  where  Orestes  died, 
for  after  his  first  rejoicing  he  has  come  to  doubt  the 
fact.  Pylades  responds  in  one  of  those  speeches  with 
which  Alfieri  seems  to  carve  the  scene  in  bas-relief :  — 

Every  fifth  year  an  ancient  use  renews 
In  Crete  the  games  and  offerings  to  Jove. 
The  love  of  glory  and  innate  ambition 
Lure  the  youth  to  that  coast ;  and  by  his  side 
Goes  Pylades,  inseparable  from  him. 
In  the  light  car  upon  the  arena  wide, 
The  hopes  of  triumph  urge  him  to  contest 
The  proud  palm  of  the  flying-footed  steeds, 
And  too  intent  on  winning,  there  his  life 
He  gives  for  victory. 

MG.  But  how  ?     Say  on. 

PYL.   Too  fierce,  impatient,  and  incautious,  he 
Now  frights  his  horses  on  with  threatening  cries, 
Now  whirls  his  blood-stained  whip,  and  lashes  them, 
Till  past  the  goal  the  ill-tamed  coursers  fly 
Faster  and  faster.     Reckless  of  the  rein, 
Deaf  to  the  voice  that  fain  would  soothe  them  now, 
Their  nostrils  breathing  fire,  their  loose  manes  tossed 
Upon  the  wind,  and  in  thick  clouds  involved 
Of  choking  dust,  round  the  vast  circle's  bound, 
As  lightning  swift  they  whirl  and  whirl  again. 
Fright,  horror,  mad  confusion,  death,  the  car 
Spreads  in  its  crooked  circles  everywhere, 
Until  at  last,  the  smoking  axle  dashed 
With  hideous  shock  against  a  marble  pillar, 
Orestes  headlong  falls  — 


32  VITTORIO   ALFIEEI. 

CLY.  No  more !  Ah,  peace ! 

His  mother  hears  thee. 

PYL.  It  is  true.     Forgive  me. 

I  will  not  tell  how,  horribly  dragged  on, 
His  streaming  life-blood  soaked  the  arena's  dust  — 
Pylades  ran  —  in  vain  —  within  his  arms 
His  friend  expired. 

CLY.  0  wicked  death ! 

PYL.  In  Crete 

All  men  lamented  him,  so  potent  in  him 
Were  beauty,  grace,  and  daring. 

CLY.  Nay,  wrho  would  not 

Lament  him  save  this  wretch  alone  ?     Dear  son, 
Must  I  then  never,  never  see  thee  more  ? 
O  me  I  too  well  1  see  thee  crossing  now 
The  Stygian  stream  to  clasp  thy  father's  shade : 
Both  turn  your  frowning  eyes  askance  on  me, 
Burning  with  dreadful  wrath !     Yea,  it  was  I, 
'T  was  I  that  slew  you  both.     Infamous  mother 
And  guilty  wife  !  —  Now  art  content,  .ZEgisthus  ? 

JSgisthns  still  doubts,  and  pursues  the  pretended 
messengers  with  such  insulting  question  that  Orestes, 
goaded  beyond  endurance,  betrays  that  their  character 
is  assumed.  They  are  seized  and  about  to  be  led  to 
prison  in  chains,  when  Electra  enters  and  in  her  an- 
guish at  the  sight  exclaims,  "  Orestes  led  to  die!" 
Then  ensues  a  fine  scene,  in  which  each  of  the  friends 
claims  to  be  Orestes.  At  last  Orestes  shows  the  dag- 
ger Electra  has  given  him,  and  offers  it  to  Clytemnes- 
tra,  that  she  may  stab  ^Egisthus  with  the  same  weapon 
with  which  she  killed  Agamemnon  :  — 

To  thee  I  give  rny  dagger 

Whom  then  I  would  call  mother.     Take  it ;  thou  knowest  how 
To  wield  it ;  plunge  it  in  ^Egisthus'  heart  1 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  33 

Leave  me  to  die  ;  I  care  not,  if  I  see 
My  father  avenged.     I  ask  no  other  proof 
Of  thy  maternal  love  from  thee.     Quick,  now, 
Strike  !     O,  what  is  it  that  I  see  ?     Thou  tremhlest  ? 
Thou  growest  pale  ?     Thou  weepest  ?     From  thy  hand 
The  dagger  falls  ?     Thou  lov'st  ^Egisthus,  lov'st  him 
And  art  Orestes'  mother  ?     Madness  !     Go, 
And  never  let  me  look  on  thee  again ! 

^Egisthus  dooms  Electra  to  the  same  death  with 
Orestes  and  Pylades,  but  on  the  way  to  prison  the 
guards  liberate  them  all,  and  the  Argives  rise  against 
the  usurper  with  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  act,  which 
I  shall  give  entire,  because  I  think  it  very  character- 
istic of  Alfieri,  and  necessary  to  a  conception  of  his 
vehement,  if  somewhat  arid  genius.  I  translate  as 
heretofore  almost  line  for  line,  and  word  for  word, 
keeping  the  Italian  order  as  nearly  as  I  can. 

SCENE  I. 
JEGISTHUS  and  Soldiers. 

/EG.    0  treachery  unforeseen  !    0  madness  !    Freed, 
Orestes  freed  ?     Now  we  shall  see  — 

Enter  CLYTEMNESTRA. 

CLY.  Ah !  turn 

Backward  thy  steps. 

jEo.  Ah,  wretch,  dost  thou  arm  too 

Against  me  ? 

CLY.  I  would  save  thee.     Hearken  to  me, 

I  am  no  longer  — 

&G.  Traitress  — 

CLY.  Stay ! 

./EG.  Thou  'st  promised 

Haply  to  give  me  to  that  wretch  alive  ? 

CLY.   To  keep  thee,  save  thee  from  him,  I  have  sworn, 


34  VITTORIO   ALFIERI. 

Though  I  should  perish  for  thee !     Ah,  remain 
And  hide  thou  here  in  safety.     I  will  be 
Thy  stay  against  his  fury  — 

^Eo.  Against  his  fury 

My  sword  shall  be  my  stay.     Go,  leave  me ! 
I  go  — 

CLY.    Whither  ? 

^EG.  To  kill  him  ! 

CLY.  To  thy  death  thou  goest ! 

0  me  !  What  dost  thou  ?     Hark  !     Dost  thou  not  hear 
The  yells  and  threats  of  the  whole  people  ?     Hold ! 

1  will  not  leave  thee. 

JEG.  Nay,  thou  hop'st  in  vain 

To  save  thy  impious  son  from  death.     Hence  !  Peace  ! 
Or  I  will  ejse  — 

CLY.  0  yes,  ^Egisthus,  kill  me, 

If  thou  believ'st  me  not.     "  Orestes  !  "     Hark  ! 
"  Orestes  !  "     How  that  terrible  name  on  high 
Rings  everywhere  !     I  am  no  longer  mother 
When  thou  'rt  in  danger.     Against  my  blood  I  grow 
Cruel  once  more. 

JEo. »  Thou  knowest  well  the  Argives 

Do  hate  thy  face,  and  at  the  sight  of  thee 
The  fury  were  redoubled  in  their  hearts. 
The  tumult  rises.     Ah,  thou  wicked  wretch, 
Thou  wast  the  cause  !     For  thee  did  I  delay 
Vengeance  that  turns  on  me  now. 

CLY.  Kill  me,  then  ! 

MG.   I  '11  find  escape  some  other  way. 

CLY.  I  follow  — 

JEo.  Ill  shield    wert  thou  for  me.      Leave  me  —  away, 

away  ! 
At  no  price  would  I  have  thee  by  my  side  !  [Exit. 

CLY.   All  hunt  me  from  them  !     O  most  hapless  state  1 
My  son  no  longer  owns  me  for  his  mother, 
My  husband  for  his  wife  :  and  wife  and  mother 


VITTOPJO   ALFIERI.  35 

I  still  must  be  !     O  misery  !     Afar 
I  '11  follow  him,  nor  lose  the  way  he  went. 
Enter  ELECTKA. 

EL.   Mother,  where  goest  thou?     Turn  thy  steps  again 
Into  the  palace.     Danger  — 

CLY.  Orestes  —  speak  ! 

Where  is  he  ?     "What  does  he  do  ? 

EL.  Orestes, 

Py lades,  and  myself,  we  are  all  safe. 
Even  jEgisthus'  minions  pitied  us. 
They  cried,  "  This  is  Orestes  ! "  and  the  people, 
"  Long  live  Orestes  !     Let  ^Egisthus  die !  " 

CLY.   What  do  I  hear! 

EL.  Calm  thyself,  mother ;  soon 

Thou  shalt  behold  thy  son  again,  and  soon 
Th'  infamous  tyrant's  corse  — 

CLY.  Ah,  cruel,  leave  me! 

I  go  — 

EL.       No,  stay  !     The  people  rage,  and  cry 
Out  on  thee  for  a  parricidal  wife. 
Show  thyself  not  as  yet,  or  thou  incurrest 
Great  peril.     'T  was  for  this  I  came.     In  thee 
A  mother's  agony  appeared,  to  see 
Thy  children  dragged  to  death,  and  thou  hast  now 
Atoned  for  thy  misdeed.     My  brother  sends  me 
To  comfort  thee,  to  succor  and  to  hide  thee 
From  dreadful  sights.     To  find  ^Egisthus  out, 
All  aimed  meanwhile,  he  and  his  Pylades 
Search  everywhere.     Where  is  the  wicked  wretch  ? 

CLY.   Orestes  is  the  wicked  wretch. 

EL.  0  Heaven ! 

CLY.    I  go  to  save  him  or  to  perish  with  him. 

EL.    Nay,  mother,  thou  shalt  never  go.    Thou  ravest  — 

CLY.    The  penalty  is  mine.     I  go  — *• 

EL,  0  mother ! 

The  monster  that  but  now  thy  children  doomed 
To  death,  \vouldst  thou  — 


36  VITTORIO   ALFIERI. 

CLY.  Yes-,  I  would  save  him  —  I ! 

Out  of  my  path !     My  terrible  destiny 
I  must  obey.     He  is.  my  husband.     All 
Too  dear  he  cost  me.     I  will  not,  cannot  lose  him. 
You  I  abhor,  traitors,  not  children  to  me ! 
I  go  to  him.     Loose  me,  thou  wicked  girl ! 
At  any  risk  I  go,  and  may  I  only 
Reach  him  in  time !  [Exit. 

EL.  Go  to  thy  fate,  then,  go, 

If  thou  wilt  so,  but  be  thy  steps  too  late ! 
Why  cannot  I,  too,  arm  me  with  a  dagger, 
To  pierce  with  stabs  a  thousand-fold  the  breast 
Of  infamous  ^Egisthus  ?     O  blind  mother,  O, 
How  art  thou  fettered  to  his  baseness  !     Yet, 
And  yet  I  tremble  —     If  the  angry  mob 
Avenge  their  murdered  king  on  her —  0  Heaven  ! 
Let  me  go  after  her  —     But  who  comes  here  ? 
Pyiades,  and  my  brother  not  beside  him  ? 

Enter  PYLADES. 
0,  tell  me  !     Orestes  - 

PYL.  Compasses  the  palace 

About  with  swords.     And  now  our  prey  is  safe. 
Where  lurks  JEgisthus  ?     Hast  thou  seen  him  ? 

EL.  Nay, 

I  saw  and  strove  in  vain  a  moment  since 
To  stay  his  maddened  wife.     She  flung  herself 
Out  of  this  door,  crying  that  she  would  make 
Herself  a  shield  unto  jEgisthus.     He 
Already  had  fled  the  palace. 

PYL.  Durst  he  then 

Show  himself  in  the  sight  of  Argos  ?     Why, 
Then  he  is  slain  ere  this  !     Happy  the  man 
That  struck  him  first.     Nearer  and  louder  yet 
I  hear  their  yells. 

EL.  "  Orestes  !  "     Ah,  were  't  so  ! 

PYL.  Look  at  him  in  his  fury  where  he  comes ! 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  37 

Enter  ORESTES  and  his  followers. 

OR.    No  man  of  you  attempt  to  slay  ^Egisthus  : 
There  is  no  wounding  sword  here  save  my  own. 
/Egisthus,  ho  !     Where  art  thou,  coward?     Speak  ! 
jEgisthus,  where  art  thou  ?     Come  forth  :  it  is 
The  voice  of  Death  that  calls  thee  !     Thou  coinest  not  ? 
Ah,  villain,  dost  thou  hide  thyself?     In  vain  : 
The  midmost  deep  of  Erebus  should  not  hide  thee. 
Thou  shalt  soon  see  if  I  be  Atrides'  son. 

EL.   He  is  not  here  ;  he  — 

OR.  Traitors !   You  perchance 

Have  slain  him  without  me  ? 

PYL.  Before  I  came 

He  had  fled  the  palace. 

On.  In  the  palace  still 

Somewhere  he  lurks  ;  but  I  will  drag  him  forth  ; 
By  his  soft  locks  I  '11  d/ag  him  with  my  hand  : 
There  is  no  prayer,  nor  god,  nor  force  of  hell 
Shall  snatch  thee  from  me.     I  will  make  thee  plough 
The  dust  with  thy  vile  body  to  the  tomb 
Of  Agamemnon,  —  I  will  drag  thee  thither 
And  pour  out  there  all  thine  adulterous  blood. 

EL.    Orestes,  dost  thou  not  believe  me  ?  —  me ! 

OR.   Who  'rt  thou  ?     I  want  ^gisthus. 

EL.  He  is  fled. 

Or.    He 's  fled,  and  you,  ye  wretches,  linger  here  ? 
But  I  will  find  him. 

Enter  CLYTEMNESTRA. 

CLY.  O,  I  have  pity,  son  ! 

OR.    Pity  ?   Whose  son  am  I  ?   Atrides'  son 
Am  I. 

CLY.   ^Egisthus,  loaded  with  chains  — 

OR.  He  lives  yet  ? 

O  joy  !    Let  me  go  slay  him  ! 

CLY.  Nay,  kill  me  ! 


38  VITTORIO   ALFIERI. 

I  slew  thy  father  — I  alone.     ^Egisthus 
Had  no  guilt  in  it. 

OR.  Who,  who  grips  my  arm  ? 

Who  holds  me  hack  ?    O  madness  !    Ah,  ^Egisthus  ! 
I  see  him  ;  they  drag  him  hither  —     Off  with  thee  ! 

CLY.    Orestes,  dost  thou  not  know  thy  mother  ? 

OR.  Die, 

JEgisthus  !    By  Orestes'  hand,  die,  villain !  [Exit. 

CLY.   Ah,  thou  'st  escaped  me.     Thou  shalt  slay  me  first ! 

[Exit. 

EL.    Pylades,  go  !    Run,  run  !    0,  stay  her !    Fly  ; 
Bring  her  back  hither !  [Exit  PYLADES. 

I  shudder !    She  is  still 
His  mother,  and  he  must  have  pity  on  her. 
Yet  only  now  she  saw  her  children  stand 
Upon  the  brink  of  an  ignoble  death, 
And  were  her  sorrow  and  her  daring  then 
As  great  as  they  are  now  for  him  ?    At  last 
The  day  so  long  desired  has  come  ;  at  last, 
Tyrant,  thou  diest ;  and  once  more  I  hear 
The  palace  all  resound  with  wails  and  cries, 
As  on  that  horrible  and  bloody  night, 
Which  was  my  father's  last,  I  heard  it  ring. 
Already  hath  Orestes  struck  the  blow, 
The  mighty  blow  ;  already  is  jEgisthus 
Fallen  —  the  tumult  of  the  crowd  proclaims  it. 
Behold  Orestes  conqueror,  his  sword 
Dripping  with  blood ! 

Enter  ORESTES. 

0  brother  mine,  0  come, 
Avenger  of  the  king  of  kings,  our  father, 
Argos,  and  me,  come  to  my  heart ! 

OR.  Sister, 

At  last  thou  seest  me  Atrides'  worthy  son. 
Look,  't  is  ^Egisthus'  blood  !    I  hardly  saw  him 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  39 

And  ran  to  slay  him  where  he  stood,  forgetting 

To  drag  him  to  our  father's  sepulchre. 

Full  twice  seven  times  I  plunged  and  plunged  my  sword 

Into  his  cowardly  and  quaking  heart ; 

Yet  have  I  slaked  not  my  long  thirst  of  vengeance. 

EL.    Then  Clytemncstra  did  not  come  in  time 
To  stay  thine  arm  ? 

OK.  And  who  had  been  enough 

For  that  ?    To  stay  mine  arm  ?    I  hurled  myself 
Upon  him ;  not  more  swift  the  thunderbolt. 
The  coward  wept,  and  those  vile  tears  the  more 
Filled  me  with  hate.     A  man  that  durst  not  die 
Slew  thee,  my  father  ! 

EL.  Now  is  our  sire  avenged. 

Calm  thyself  now,  and  tell  me,  did  thine  eyes 
Behold  not  Pylades  ? 

OR.  I  saw  jEgisthus ; 

None  other.     Where  is  dear  Pylades  ?    And  why 
Did  he  not  second  me  in  this  glorious  deed  ? 

EL.    I  had  confided  to  his  care  our  mad 
And  desperate  mother. 

OR.  I  knew  nothing  of  them. 

Enter  PYLADES. 

EL.    See,  Pylades  returns  —  0  Heavens,  what  do  I  see  ? 
Returns  alone  ? 

OR.  And  sad  ?     0,  wherefore  sad, 

Part  of  myself,  art  thou  ?     Know'st  not  I  've  slain 
Yon  villain  ?     Look,  how  with  his  life-blood  yet 
My  sword  is  dripping  !     Ah,  thou  didst  not  share 
His  death-blow  with  me !     Feed  then  on  this  sight 
Thine  eyes,  my  Pylades  ! 

PYL.  0  sight !  Orestes, 

Give  me  that  sword. 

OR.  And  wherefore  ? 

PYL.  Give  it  me. 

OR.  Take  it. 


40  V1TTORIO   ALFIERI. 

PYL.    O,  listen.     We  may  not  tarry  longer 
Within  these  borders  ;  come  — 

On.  But  what  — 

EL.  O,  speak  ! 

"Where  's  Clytemnestra  ? 

OR.    .  Leave  her  ;  she  is  perchance 

Kindling  the  pyre  unto  her  traitor  husband. 

PYL.    0,  thou  hast  far  more  than  fulfilled  thy  vengeance. 
Come,  now,  and  ask  no  more. 

OR.  What  dost  thou  say  ? 

EL.    Our  mother !     I  beseech  thee  yet  again  ! 
Pylades —     O,  what  chill  is  this  that  creeps 
Through  all  my  veins  ? 

PYL.  The  heavens  — 

EL.      v  Ah,  she  is  dead ! 

OR.    Hath  turned  her  dagger,  maddened,  on  herself. 

EL.    Alas  !  Pylades.     Why  dost  thou  not  answer  ? 

OR.    Speak!     What  hath  been ? 

PLY.  Slain  - 

OR.  And  by  whose  hand  ? 

PYL.  Come. 

EL.  (to  ORESTES).   Thou  sle west  her. 

OR.  I  parricide  ? 

PYL.  Unknowing 

Thou  plungedst  in  her  heart  thy  sword,  as  blind 
With  rage  thou  rannest  on  ^Egisthus  — 

OR.  O, 

What  horror  seizes  me !     I  parricide  ? 
My  sword  !  Pylades,  give  it  me  ;  I  '11  have  it  — 

PYL.   It  shall  not  be. 

EL.  Brother  — 

OR.  Who  calls  me  brother  ? 

Thou,  haply,  impious  wretch,  thou  that  didst  save  me 
To  life  and  matricide  ?     Give  me  my  sword  ! 
My  sword  !     O  fury  !     Where  am  I  ?     What  is  it 
That  I  have  done  ?     Who  stays  me  ?     Who  follows  me  ? 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  41 

Ah,  whither  shall  I  fly,  where  hide  myself  ?  — 
O  father,  dost  thou  look  on  me  askance  ? 
Thou  wouldst  have  blood  of  me,  and  this  is  blood  ; 
For  thee  alone  —  for  thee  alone  I  shed  it. 

EL.   Orestes,  Orestes  —  miserable  brother  ! 
He  hears  us  not,  ah !  he  is  mad.     Forever, 
Pylades,  we  must  go  beside  him. 

PYL.  Hard, 

Inevitable  law  of  ruthless  Fate  ! 

Alfieri  himself  wrote  a  critical  comment  on  each  of 
his  tragedies,  discussing  their  qualities  and  the  ques- 
tion of  their  failure  or  success  dispassionately  enough. 
For  example,  he  frankly  says  of  his  Maria  Stuarda 
that  it  is  the  worst  tragedy  he  ever  wrote,  and  the 
only  one  that  he  could  wish  not  to  have  written ;  of 
his  Agamennone,  that  all  the  good  in  it  came  from  the 
author  and  all  the  bad  from  the  subject ;  of  his  Fi- 
lippo  II.,  that  it  may  make  a  very  terrible  impression 
indeed  of  mingled  pity  and  horror,  or  that  it  may  dis- 
gust, through  the  cold  atrocity  of  Philip,  even  to  the 
point  of  nausea.  On  the  Orestes  we  may  very  well 
consult  him  more  at  length.  "  This  tragic  action," 
he  declares,  "  has  no  other  motive  or  development,  nor 
admits  any  other  passion,  than  an  implacable  revenge ; 
but  the  passion  of  revenge  (though  very  strong  by 
nature),  having  become  greatly  enfeebled  among  civ- 
ilized peoples,  is  regarded  as  a  vile  passion,  and  its 
effects  are  wont  to  be  blamed  and  looked  upon  with 
loathing.  Nevertheless,  when  it  is  just,  when  the 
offence  received  is  very,  atrocious,  when  the  persons 
and  the  circumstances  are  such  that  no  human  law  can 
indemnify  the  aggrieved  and  punish  the  aggressor, 
then  revenge,  under  the  names  of  war,  invasion,  con- 
spiracy, the  duel,  and  the  like,  ennobles  itself,  and  so 


42  VITTORIO  ALFIERI. 

works  upon  our  minds  as  not  only  to  be  endured  but 
to  be  admirable  and  sublime.77  In  his  Orestes  he  con- 
fesses that  he  sees  much  to  praise  and  very  little  to 
blame  :  u  Orestes,  to  my  thinking,  is  ardent  in  sublime 
degree,  and  this  daring  character  of  his,  together  with 
the  perils  he  confronts,  may  greatly  diminish  in  him 

the  atrocity  and  coldness  of  a  meditated  revenge 

Let  those  who  do  not  believe  in  the  force  of  a  passion 
for  high  and  just  revenge  add  to  it,  in  the  heart  of 
Orestes,  private  interest,  the  love  of  power,  rage  at 
beholding  his  natural  heritage  occupied  by  a  murder- 
ous usurper,  and  then  they  will  have  a  sufficient 
reason  for  all  his  fury.  Let  them  consider  also  the 
ferocious  ideas  in  which  he  must  have  been  nurtured 
by  Strophius,  king  of  Phocis,  the  persecutions  which 
he  knows  to  have  been  everywhere  moved  against  him 
by  the  usurper,  —  his  being,  in  fine,  the  son  of  Aga- 
memnon, and  greatly  priding  himself  thereon,  —  and 
all  these  things  will  certainly  account  for  the  vindic- 
tive passion  of  Orestes 

"  Clytemnestra  is  very  difficult  to  treat  in  this  tragedy, 
since  she  must  be  here, 

'  Now  wife,  now  mother,  never  wife  nor  mother/ 

which  is  much  easier  to  say  in  a  verse  than  to  man- 
age in  the  space  of  five  acts.  Yet  I  believe  that  Cly- 
temnestra, through  the  terrible  remorse  she  feels, 
the  vile  treatment  which  she  receives  from  ^Egisthus, 
and  the  awful  perplexity  in  which  she  lives  .... 
will  be  considered  sufficiently  punished  by  the  spec- 
tator. 

"  ^Egisthus  is  never  able  to  elevate  his  soul  5  .... 
he  will  always  be  an  unpleasing,  vile,  and  difficult 
personage  to  manage  well  j  a  character  that  brings 


VITTORIO   ALPIERI.  43 

small  praise  to  the  author  when  made  sufferable,  and 
much  blame  if  not  made  so 

"  I  believe  the  fourth  and  fifth  acts  would  produce  the 
highest  effect  on  the  stage  if  well  represented.  In  the 
fifth,  there  is  a  movement,  a  brevity,  a  rapidly  operat- 
ing heat,  that  ought  to  touch,  agitate,  and  singularly 
surprise  the  spirit.  So  it  scents  to  me,  but  perhaps  it 
is  not  so." 

This  analysis  is  not  only  very  amusing  for  the  candor 
with  which  Altieri  praises  himself,  but  it  is  also  re- 
markable for  the  justice  with  which  the  praise  is  given, 
and  the  strong,  conscious  hold  which  it  shows  him  to 
have  had  upon  his  creations.  It  leaves  one  very  little 
to  add,  but  I  cannot  help  saying  that  I  think  the  man- 
agement of  Clytemnestra  especially  admirable  through- 
out. She  loves  ^Egisthus  with  the  fatal  passion  which 
no  scorn  or  cruelty  on  his  part  can  quench ;  but  while 
he  is  in  power  and  triumphant,  her  heart  turns  tenderly 
to  her  hapless  children,  whom  she  abhors  as  soon  as  his 
calamity  comes  ;  then  she  has  no  thought  but,  to  save 
him.  She  can  join  her  children  in  hating  the  murder 
which  she  has  herself  done  on  Agamemnon,  but  she 
cannot  avenge  it  on  JEgisthus,  and  thus  expiate  her 
crime  in  their  eyes.  ^Egisthus  is  never  able  to  conceive 
of  the  unselfishness  of  her  love  ;  he  believes  her  ready 
to  betray  him  when  danger  threatens,  and  to  shield 
herself  behind  him  from  the  anger  of  the  Argives ;  it  is 
a  deep  knowledge  of  human  nature  that  makes  him 
interpose  the  memory  of  her  unatoned-for  crime  between 
her  and  any  purpose  of  good. 

Orestes  always  sees  his  revenge  as  something  sacred, 
and  that  is  a  great  scene  in  which  he  offers  his  dagger 
to  Clytemnestra  and  bids  her  kill  ./Egisthus  with  it, 
believing  fur  the  instant  that  even  she  must  exult  to 


44  VITTORIO   ALFIERI. 

share  his  vengeance.  His  feeling  towards  ^Egisthus 
never  changes ;  it  is  not  revolting  to  the  spectator, 
since  Orestes  is  so  absolutely  unconscious  of  wrong  in 
putting  him  to  death.  He  shows  his  blood-stained 
sword  to  Pylades  with  a  real  sorrow  that  his  friend 
should  not  also  have  enjoyed  the  rapture  of  killing  the 
usurper.  His  language  is  fiercely  terse,  and  his  story 
of  his  escape  on  the  night  of  Agamemnon's  murder  is 
as  simple  and  grand  in  movement  as  that  of  figures  in  an 
antique  "bas-relief.  Here  and  elsewhere  one  feels  how 
Alfieri  does  not  paint,  hut  sculptures  his  scenes  and 
persons,  cuts  their  outlines  deep,  and  strongly  carves 
their  attitudes  and  expression. 

Electrads  the  worthy  sister  of  Orestes,  and  the  family 
likeness  between  them  is  sharply  traced.  She  has  all 
his  faith  in  the  sacredness  of  his  purpose,  while  she 
has,  woman-like,  a  far  keener  and  more  specific  hatred 
of  ^Egisthus.  The  ferocity  of  her  exultation  when 
Clytemnestra  and  ^Egisthus  upbraid  each  other  is  terri- 
ble, but,,  the  picture  she  draws  for  Orestes  of  their 
mother's  life  is  touched  with  an  exquisite  filial  pity. 
She  seems  to  me  studied  with  marvellous  success. 

The  close  of  the  tragedy  I  think  very  noble  indeed, 
full  of  fire  and  life,  yet  never  wanting  in  a  sort  of  lofty, 
austere  grace,  that  lapses  at  last  into  a  truly  statuesque 
despair.  Orestes  mad,  with  Electra  and  Pylades  on 
either  side :  it  is  the  attitude  and  gesture  of  Greek 
sculpture,  a  group  forever  fixed  in  the  imperishable 
sorrow  of  stone. 

In  reading  Alfieri,  I  am  always  struck  with  what  I 
may  call  the  narrowness  of  his  tragedies.  They  have 
height  and  depth,  but  not  breadth.  The  range  of  sen- 
timent is  as  limited  in  any  one  of  them  as  the  range  of 
phrase  in  this  Orestes,  where  the  recurrence  of  the 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  45 

same  epithets,  horrible,  bloody,  terrible,  fatal,  awful, 
is  not.  apparently  felt  by  the  poet  as  monotonous.  Four 
or  five  persons,  each  representing  a  purpose  or  a  pas- 
sion, occupy  the  scene,  and  obviously  contribute  by 
every  word  and  deed  to  the  advancement  of  the  tragic 
action ;  and  this  narrowness  and  rigidity  of  intent 
would  be  intolerable,  if  the  tragedies  were  not  so  brief: 
I  do  not  think  any  of  them  is  much  longer  than  a  sin- 
gle act  of  one  of  Shakespeare's  plays.  They  are  in  all 
other  ways  equally  unlike  Shakespeare's  plays.  When 
you  read  Macbeth  or  Hamlet,  you  find  yourself  in  a 
world  where  the  interests  and  passions  are  complex  and 
divided  against  themselves,  as  they  are  here  and  now. 
The  action  progresses  fitfully,  as  events  do  in  life  ;  it  is 
promoted  by  the  things  that  seem  to  retard  it ;  and  it 
includes  long  stretches  of  time  and  many  places.  When 
you  read  Orestes,  you  find  yourself  attendant  upon  an 
imminent  calamity,  which  nothing  can  avert  or  delay. 
In  a  solitude  like  that  of  dreams,  those  hapless  phan- 
tasms, dark  types  of  remorse,  of  cruel  ambition,  of  in- 
exorable revenge,  move  swiftly  on  the  fatal  end.  They 
do  not  grow  or  develop  on  the  imagination  ;  their  char- 
acter is  stamped  at  once,  and  they  have  but  to  act  it 
out.  There  is  no  lingering  upon  episodes,  no  digres- 
sions, no  reliefs.  They  cannot  stir  from  that  spot 
where  they  are  doomed  to  expiate  or  consummate  their 
crimes ;  one  little  day  is  given  them,  and  then  all  is 
over. 

Both  kinds  of  tragedy  are  in  the  region  of  the  ideal, 
but  Alfieri  idealizes  passions  and  Shakespeare  idealizes 
men.  If  art  is  a  pure  essence,  separable  from  the  life 
we  know,  and  enjoyable  in  and  for  itself,  we  must 
allow  to  Alfieri  the  more  artistic  expression.  Mr. 
Lowell,  in  his  magnificent  essay  on  Dry  den,  speaks  of 


46  VITTOKIO   ALFIERI. 

u  a  style  of  poetry  whose  great  excellence  was  that  it 
was  in  perfect  sympathy  with  the  genius  of  the  people 
among  whom  it  came  into  being,"  and  this  I  conceive 
to  he  the  virtue  of  the  Alfierian  poetry.  The  Italians 
love  heauty  of  form,  and  we  Goths  love  picturesque 
effect ;  and  Alfieri  has  little  or  none  of  the  kind  of 
excellence  which  we  enjoy.  But  while 

"  I  look  and  own  myself  a  happy  Goth," 

I  have  moods,  in  the  presence  of  his  simplicity  and 
severity,  when  I  feel  that  he  and  all  the  classicists  may 
he  right.  When  I  see  how  much  he  achieves  with 
his  sparing  phrase,  his  sparsely  populated  scene,  his 
narrow  plot  and  angular  design,  when  I  find  him  per- 
fectly sufficient  in  expression  and  entirely  adequate  in 
suggestion,  I  am  seized  with  a  dismaying  doubt  of  the 
Romantic  principle,  that  it  is  after  all  barbarous, 
clumsy,  rudely  profuse,  uncouth.  Then  the  Classic 
alone  appears  elegant  and  true  —  till  I  read  Shake- 
speare again ;  or  till  I  turn  to  Nature,  whom  I  do  not 
find  sparing  or  severe,  hut  full  of  variety  and  change 
and  relief,  and  yet  having  a  sort  of  elegance  and  truth 
of  her  own. 

In  the  treatment  of  historical  subjects  Alfieri  allowed 
himself  every  freedom.  He  makes  Lorenzo  de'  Medici, 
the  most  polite,  gentle,  and  considerate  of  usurpers,  a 
brutal  and  very  insolent  tyrant,  a  tyrant  after  the  high 
Roman  fashion,  a  tyrant  almost  after  the  fashion  of 
the  late  Edwin  Forrest.  Yet  there  are  some  good 
passages  in  the  Congiura  dei  Pazzi,  of  the  peculiarly 
hard  Alfierian  sort :  — 

"  An  enemy  insulted  and  not  slain  ! 
What  breast  in  triple  iron  armed,  but  needs 
Must  tremble  at  him?" 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  47 

is  a  saying  of  Giuliano  de?  Medici,  who,  when  asked  if 
he  does  not  fear  one  of  the  conspirators,  puts  the  whole 
political  wisdom  of  the  sixteenth  century  into  his 
answer,  — 

"  Being  feared,  I  fear." 

The  Filippo  of  Alfieri  must  always  have  an  interest 
for  English  readers  because  of  its  chance  relation  to 
Keats,  who,  sick  to  death  of  consumption,  bought  a 
copy  of  Alfieri  when  on  his  way  to  Rome.  As  Mr. 
Lowell  relates  in  his  sketch  of  the  poet's  life,  the  dying 
man  opened  the  book  at  the  second  page,  and  read  the 
lines,  —  perhaps  the  tenderest  that  Alfieri  ever  wrote,  — 

"  Misero  me  !  sollievo  a  me  lion  resta 
Altro  che  il  pianto,  e  il  pianto  e  delitto !  " 

Keats  read  these  words,  and  then  laid  down  the  book 
and  opened  it  no  more.  The  closing  scene  of  the  fourth 
act  of  this  tragedy  can  well  be  studied  as  a  striking 
example  of  Alfieri' s  extraordinary  power  of  condensa- 
tion. 

Some  of  the  non-political  tragedies  of  Alfieri  are  still 
played ;  Ristori  plays  his  Mirra,  and  Salvini  his  Saul ; 
but  I  believe  there  is  now  no  Italian  critic  who  praises 
him  so  entirely  as  Giudici  did.  Yet  the  poet  finds  a 
warm  defender  against  the  French  and  German  critics 
in  De  Sanctis,*  a  very  clever  and  brilliant  Italian,  who 
accounts  for  Alfieri  in  a  way  that  helps  to  make  all 
Italian  things  more  intelligible  to  us.  He  is  speaking 
of  Alfieri's  epoch  and  social  circumstances :  — 

"  Education  had  been  classic  for  ages.  Our  ideal 
was  Rome  and  Greece,  our  heroes  Brutus  and  Cato, 
our  books  Livy,  Tacitus,  and  Plutarch ;  and  if  this  was 

*  Saggi  Critici.  Di  Fraiicesco  di  Sanctis.  Napoli :  Antonio  Morano. 
1859. 


48  VITTORIO   ALFIERI. 

true  of  all  Europe,  how  much  more  so  of  Italy,  where 
this  history  might  be  called  domestic,  a  thing  of  our 
own,  a  part  of  our  traditions,  still  alive  to  the  eye  in 
our  cities  and  monuments.  From  Dante  to  Maclria- 
velli,  from  Machiavelli  to  Metastasio,  our  classical  tradi- 
tion was  never  broken In  the  social  dissolution 

of  the  last  century,  all  disappeared  except  this  ideal. 
In  fact,  in  that  first  enthusiasm,  when  the  minds  of  men 
confidently  sought  final  perfection,  it  passed  from  the 
schools  into  life,  ruled  the  imagination,  inflamed  the 

will.      People    lived  and  died  Rornanly The 

situations  that  Alfieri  has  chosen  in  his  tragedies  have  a 
visible  relation  to  the  social  state,  to  the  fears  and  to 
the  hopes  of  his  own  time.  It  is  always  resistance 
to  oppression,  of  man  against  man,  of  people  against 

tyrant In  the  classicism  of  Alfieri  there  is  no 

positive  side.  It  is  an  ideal  Rome  and  Greece,  outside 
of  time  and  space,  floating  in  the  vague  ....  which 
his  contemporaries  filled  up  writh  their  own  life." 

Giuseppe  Arnaud,  in  his  admirable  criticisms  on  the 
Patriotic  Poets  of  Italy,  has  treated  of  the  literary 
side  of  Alfieri  in  terms  that  seem  to  me  on  the  whole 
very  just :  "  He  sacrificed  the  foreshortening,  which 
has  so  great  a  charm  for  the  spectator,  to  the  sculp- 
tured full  figure  that  always  presents  itself  face  to  face 
with  you,  and  in  entire  relief.  The  grand  passions, 
which  are  commonly  sparing  of  words,  are  in  his  sys- 
tem condemned  to  speak  much,  and  to  explain  them- 
selves too  much To  what  shall  we  attribute 

that  respectful  somnolence  which  nowadays  reigns  over 
the  audience  during  the  recitation  of  Alfieri's  tragedies, 
if  they  are  not  sustained  by  some  theatrical  celebrity  ? 
You  will  certainly  say,  to  the  mediocrity  of  the  actors. 
But  I  hold  that  the  tragic  effect  can  be  produced  even 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  49 

by  mediocre  actors,  if  this  effect  truly  abounds  in  the 

plot  of  the  tragedy I  know  that  these  opinions 

of  mine  will  not  be  shared  by  the  great  majority  of  the 
Italian  public,  and  so  be  it.  The  contrary  will  always 
be  favorable  to  one  who  greatly  loved  his  country, 
always  desired  to  serve  her,  and  succeeded  in  his  own 
time  and  own  manner.  Whoever  should  say  that  Al- 
fieri's  tragedies,  in  spite  of  many  eminent  merits,  were 
constructed  on  a  theory  opposed  to  grand  scenic  effects 
and  to  one  of  the  two  bases  of  tragedy,  namely,  com- 
passion, would  certainly  not  say  what  was  far  from  the 
truth.  And  yet,  with  all  this,  Alfieri  will  still  remain 
that  dry,  harsh  blast  which  swept  away  the  noxious 
niiasms  with  which  the  Italian  air  was  infected.  He 
will  still  remain  that  poet  who  aroused  his  country  from 
its  dishonorable  slumber,  and  inspired  its  heart  with 
intolerance  of  servile  conditions  and  with  regard  for  its 
dignity.  Up  to  his  time  we  had  bleated,  and  he 
roared." 

"  In  fact,"  says  D'Azeglio,  "  one  of  the  merits  of 
that  proud  heart  was  to  have  found  Italy  Metastasian 
and  left  it  Alfierian ;  and  his  first  and  greatest  merit 
was,  to  my  thinking,  that  he  discovered  Italy,  so  to 
speak,  as  Columbus  discovered  America,  and  initiated 
the  idea  of  Italy  as  a  nation.  I  place  this  merit  far 
beyond  that  of  his  verses  and  his  tragedies." 

Besides  his  tragedies,  Alfieri  wrote,  as  I  have  already 
stated,  some  comedies  in  his  last  years  ;  but  I  must  own 
my  ignorance  of  all  six  of  them  ;  and  he  wrote  various 
satires,  odes,  sonnets,  epigrams,  and  other  poems. 
Most  of  them  are  of  political  interest ;  the  Miso-Gallo 
is  an*expression  of  his  scorn  and  hatred  of  the  French 
nation ;  the  America  Liberata  celebrates  our  separa- 
tion from  England ;  the  Etruria  Vendicata  praises  the 


50  VITTORIO   ALFIERI. 

murder  of  the  abominable  Alessandro  de1  Medici  by  his 
kinsman,  Lorenzaccio.  None  of  the  satires,  whether 
on  kings,  aristocrats,  or  people,  have  lent  themselves 
easily  to  my  perusal;  the  epigrams  are  signally  un- 
readable, but  some  of  the  sonnets  are  very  good.  He 
seems  to  find  in  their  limitations  the  same  sort  of 
strength  that  he  finds  in  his  restricted  tragedies ;  and 
they  are  all  in  the  truest  sense  sonnets. 

Here  is  one,  which  loses,  of  course,  by  translation. 
In  this  and  other  of  my  versions,  I  have  rarely  found 
the  Englith  too  terse  for  the  Italian,  and  often  not  terse 
enough :  — 

HE  IMAGINES  THE  DEATH  OF  HIS  LADY. 

The  sacl  bell  that  within  my  bosom  aye 

Clamors  and  bids  me  still  renew  my  tears, 
Doth  stun  my  senses  and  my  soul  bewray 

With  wandering  fantasies  and  cheating  fears ; 
The  gentle  form  of  her  that  is  but  ta'en 

A  little  from  my  sight  I  seem  to  see 
At  life's  bourn  lying  faint  and  pale  with  pain,  — 

My  love  that  to  these  tears  abandons  me. 
"  0  my  own  true  one/'  tenderly  she  cries, 

"  I  grieve  for  thee,  love,  that  thou  winnest  naught 
Save  hapless  life  with  all  thy  many  sighs." 

"  Life  ?     Never !     Though  thy  blessed  steps  have  taught 
My  feet  the  path  in  all  well-doing,  stay  !  — 
At  this  last  pass  'tis  mine  to  lead  the  way." 

There  is  a  still  more  characteristic  sonnet  of  AlfieriTs, 
with  which  I  shall  close,  as  I  began,  in  the  very  open 
air  of  his  autobiography  :  — 

HIS   PORTRAIT. 

Thou  mirror  of  veracious  speech  sublime, 
What  I  am  like  in  soul  and  body,  show  : 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  51 

Red  hair,  —  in  front  grown  somewhat  thin  with  time  ; 

Tall  stature,  with  an  earthward  head  bowed  low; 
A  meagre  form,  with  two  straight  legs  beneath ; 

An  aspect  good  ;  white  skin  with  eyes  of  blue; 
A  proper  nose ;  fine  lips  and  choicest  teeth ; 

Face  paler  than  a  throned  king's  in  hue ; 
Now  hard  and  bitter,  yielding  now  and  mild ; 

Malignant  never,  passionate  alway, 
With  mind  and  heart  in  endless  strife  embroiled ; 

Sad  mostly,  and  then  gayest  of  the  gay. 
Achilles  now,  Thersites  in  his  turn: 
Man,  art  thou  great  or  vile  ?     Die,  and  thou  'It  learn  ! 

The  following  translation  of  Alfieri's  autobiography 
is  reprinted  from  the  London  edition  of  1810,  and  is  in 
the  main  a  faithful  version,  though  it  often  lacks  the 
peculiar  color  and  fury  of  the  original. 


INTRODUCTION. 


|ELF-LOVE  is  unquestionably  the  chief  mo- 
tive which  leads  any  one  to  speak,  and  more 
especially  to  write,  respecting  himself.  I 
shall  not,  therefore,  offer  to  my  readers  any 
weak  apologies  or  false  and  unsatisfactory  reasons  for 
having  written  these  memoirs,  since  they  would  afford 
a  bad  specimen  of  my  future  veracity.  I  frankly 
acknowledge,  that  among  all  the  different  sentiments 
which  induced  me  to  become  my  own  biographer,  the 
most  powerful  was  self-love.  Nature  has  implanted 
this  feeling,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  in  the  breast 
of  every  individual;  she  has  been  lavish  of  it  to  au- 
thors, and  particularly  to  poets,  or  those  who  term 
themselves  such.  This  precious  gift  is  the  principal 
motive  of  all  the  great  actions  of  man,  when  he  unites 
to  a  knowledge  of  his  own  powers  an  enlightened 
enthusiasm  for  the  sublime  and  beautiful,  which  are  in 
fact  only  one  and  the  same  thing. 

Without  dwelling  longer  on  these  general  reasons,  I 
shall  proceed  to  notice  those  in  particular  which  in- 
duced me  to  compose  these  memoirs  j  and  afterwards 
point  out  the  rules  I  prescribed  to  myself  in  the  execu- 
tion of  this  task. 


54  INTRODUCTION. 

Even,  at  present,  my  literary  productions  are  pretty 
voluminous.  Hence  it  is  not  unnatural  to  suppose 
that  a  few  individuals,  either  among  my  contempora- 
ries or  their  descendants,  to  whom  my  productions  may 
have  afforded  some  degree  of  pleasure,  will  be  anxious 
to  know  something  of  my  character.  This  opinion 
cannot,  I  flatter  myself,  be  deemed  presumptuous, 
since  I  daily  observe  the  lives  ,  of  authors  read  with 
avidity,  who  are  perhaps  less  known  from  the  merit 
than  the  number  of  their  works :  besides,  if  no  other 
reason  existed,  it  is  certain,  as  soon  as  I  should  be  no 
more,  some  bookseller,  in  order  to  enhance  his  gains 
on  a  new  edition  of  my  works,  wrould  prefix  to  it  a 
life  of  the  author.  This  life  would  probably  be  writr 
ten  by  some  one  who  was  completely  ignorant  of  the 
events  which  compose  it,  and  who  drew  the  materials 
from  doubtful  or  partial  sources.  In  short,  it  could 
never  be  equally  authentic  as  one  from  my  own  pen, 
'since  a  writer  in  the  pay  of  a  publisher  usually  pane^ 
'gyrizes  the  author;  both  flattering  themselves,  by  this 
means,  to  insure  a  greater  sale  for  his  works.  In  order, 
therefore,  to  render  this  biographical  sketch  more  aeciir 
rate  and  as  impartial  as  any  which  could  be  written 
after  my  death,  I,  who  was  never  known  to  forfeit  my 
promise,  here  covenant  with  myself  and  my  readers  to 
free  myself,  as  much  as  it  is  in  the  power  of  man  to 
do,  from  the  mist  of  passion  and  prejudice,  in  the 
delineation  of  my  own  character. 

I  have  entered  into  this  engagement  because,  on  the 
most  rigorous  scrutiny  of  my  own  character,  I  have 
found,  or  believe  I  have  found,  the  good  preponderate 
over  the  evil.  Besides,  if  I  possess  not  the  courage  or 
the  indiscretion  to  speak  of  myself  as  I  deserve,  I  shall, 
at  least,  not  have  the  baseness  to  gloss  over  my  faults 


INTRODUCTION.  55 

by  advancing  an  untruth.  As  to  the  method  which  I 
propose  to  follow,  in  order  to  spare,  or,  at  least,  to 
abridge  the  trouble  of  the  reader,  by  leaving  him  at 
liberty  to  pass  over  those  years  of  my  life  which  may 
appear  to  him  the  least  interesting,  it  is  my  intention 
to  divide  this  work  into  five  epochs,  corresponding 
with  the  five  ages  of  man,  —  infancy,  adolescence, 
youth,  manlioocl,  and  old  age ;  but  from  the  manner 
in  which  I  have  written  the  three  first  parts,  and  more 
than  a  half  of  the  fourth,  I  cannot  Hatter  myself  writh 
being  able  to  preserve  that  brevity  \vhich  I  have  been 
always  solicitous  to  attain  in  my  works,  and  which 
would  be  more  particularly  necessary  and  praiseworthy 
when  speaking  of  myself. 

I  am,  moreover,  afraid  that  in  the  fifth  part,  should 
I  ever  reach  that  period,  I  may  fall  into  that  garrulity 
wrhich  is  the  inseparable  concomitant  of  imbecile  old 
age.  If,  then,  in  consequence  of  this  declension  of  my 
faculties,  I  should  become  tedious  and  diffuse,  I  entreat 
beforehand  that  the  reader  may  forgive  this  fault,  and 
throw  aside  the  last  part  without  petusing  it. 

When  I  say  that  I  cannot  flatter  'myself  with  being 
so  concise  as  I  could  wish,  even  in  the  four  first 
periods,  I  do  not  certainly  mean  to  extend  them  to  a 
ridiculous  length  by  the  detail  of  a  thousand  minute 
circumstances.  I  shall  only  relate  those  which,  in  my 
opinion,  may  contribute  to  the  knowledge  of  man  in 
general,  whose  nature  we  can  best  understand  by  study- 
ing ourselves. 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  speak  of  any  individual 
whose  history  is  not,  in  some  way  or  other,  connected 
with,  my  own.  I  profess  only  to  write  facts  which 
have  a  relation  to  myself,  and  not  those  in  which 
others  are  concerned.  I  shall  avoid  naming  any  per- 


56 


INTRODUCTION. 


son,  and  if  I  recall  the  remembrance  of  a  few,  it  will 
only  be  in  regard  to  things  which  are  either  indifferent 
or  praiseworthy.  The  object  of  this  work  relates 
chiefly  to  the  study  of  man  in  general.  And  of  what 
man  can  any  one  speak  so  correctly  as  of  himself  f 
What  other  can  he  study  more  easily,  know  more  in- 
timately, or  estimate  with  greater  accuracy,  —  having 
for  so  many  years  penetrated  into  his  most  secret 
thoughts  ? 

As  to  the  style  of  these  memoirs,  dictated  by  the 
heart  and  not  the  head,  I  have  undeviatingly  through- 
out employed  that  spontaneous  and  natural  simplicity 
which,  in  my  opinion,  is  best  suited  to  a  subject  of  this 
nature. v 


MEMOIRS 

OF 

VITTORIO     ALFIERI. 

FIRST%  EPOCH. 


INFANCY. 
INCLUDING   NINE   YEARS   OF   MY  LIFE. 


I. 

WAS  born  in  the  city  of  Asti,  in  Piedmont, 
on  the  17th  of  January,  1749,  of  noble, 
wealthy,  and  respectable  parents.  I  particu- 
larly mention  these  three  circumstances,  be- 
cause I  regard  them  as  extremely  fortunate,  for  the 
following  reasons :  my  noble  birth  enabled  me,  without 
incurring  the  charge  of  envy  or  meanness,  to  despise 
those  nobles  who  were  distinguished  only  by  their  ori- 
gin, and  to  unveil  their  follies,  their  abuses,  and  crimes, 
while  at  the  same  time  its  influence  was  sufficiently 
powerful  to  prevent  me  sullying  the  dignity  of  the  art  I 
professed.  The  affluence  of  my  circumstances  enabled 
me  to  dedicate  my  labors  to  the  interests  of  truth ;  and 


58  MEMOIRS   OF 

the  probity  of  my  parents  prevented  me  from  blushing 
that  I  had  been  born  a  gentleman.  If  any  one  of 
these  circumstances  had  been  wanting,  my  different 
works  must  necessarily  have  suffered  by  it,  and  I  my- 
self might  even  perhaps  have  been  either  a  worse 
philosopher  or  a  less  respectable  man. 

The  name  of  my  father  was  Anthony  Alfieri  5  that 
of  my  mother  Monica  Maillard  de  Tournon.  She  was  of 
Savoyard  origin,  as  her  barbarous  surnames  sufficiently 
indicate,  though  her  family  had  been  long  settled  at 
Turin.  My  father,  who  had  been  bred  to  no  profession, 
was  a  man  of  strict  morals,  and.  wholly  devoid  of  ambi- 
tion, as  I  have  been  informed  by  those  who  were  most 
intimately  acquainted  with  him. 

Possessing  a  fortune  adequate  to  his  rank  in  life, 
gentle  in  his  manners,  and  moderate  in  all  his  desires, 
his  days  glided  happily  on.  When  above  the  age  of 
fifty,  he  became  enamored  of  my  mother,  whom  he 
made  his  wife ;  she  was  still  very  young,  and  the  widow 
of  the  Marquis  of  Cacherano,  a  nobleman  of  Asti.  A 
daughter,  whose  birth  preceded  mine  by  two  years, 
rendered  my  father  more  than  ever  anxious  for  a  son  -j 
hence  my  entrance  into  the  world  wras  hailed  with  every, 
demonstration  of  joy.  1  know  not  whether  he  merely 
rejoiced  at  this  event,  as  most  aged  men  are  apt  to  do 
under  similar  circumstances,  or  whether  his  satisfaction 
arose  from  his  extreme  anxiety  to  perpetuate  his  name 
and  family  to  future  generations.  It  probably  proceeded 
from  a  combination  of  both  these  causes.  Be  this, 
however,  as  it  may,  I  was  sent  to  nurse  in  the  village 
of  Rovigliasco,  two  miles  from  Asti,  where  he  came  to 
see  me  almost  every  day  on  foot,  being  a  man  wholly 
destitute  of  ostentation,  and  extremely  simple  in  his 
manners.  He  was,  at  this  period,  above  sixty  years, 


viTiorao  ALFIERI.  $9 

of  age,  though  still  strong  and  robust ;  but,  during  one/ 
of  his  daily  excursions,  in  which  he  paid  no  attention 
to  the  state  of  the  weather,  he  so  overheated  himself 
that  he  was  seized  with  an  inflammation  in  his  lungs, , 
which  in  a  few  days  conducted  him  to  the  tomb. 

I  had  not  then  completed  my  first  year.  My  mother 
was  pregnant  with  another  boy,  who  died  in  his  infancy, 
so  that  there  only  remained  to  her  a  boy  and  girl  of  my 
father's,  and  two  daughters  and  a  son  by  her  first  hus- 
band, the  Marquis  of  Cacherano.  My  mother,  though 
a,  widow  for  the  second  time,  being  still  young,  espoused, 
as  a  third  husband  the  Chevalier  Hyacinth  Alfieri  de; 
Magliano,  sprung  from  a  different  branch  of  a  family 
bearing  the  same  name  as  my  own.  The  chevalier,  by 
tjie  death  of  his  eldest  brother,  who  left  no  issue,  be-r 
came  heir  to  all  his  immense  possessions.  With  this-, 
husband,  who  was  nearly  about  her  own  age,  of  a  pre- < 
possessing  figure,  and  noble  and  dignified  manners,  my 
amiable  mother  enjoyed  the  most  perfect  happiness. 

When  writing  these  memoirs,  at  the  age  of  forty-one, 
this  union  still  exists.  For  more  than  thirty-seven 
years,  this  respectable  couple  have  exhibited  a  model' 
of  every  domestic  virtue ;  they  are  beloved,  respected, 
and  admired  by  all  their  countrymen,  particularly  myi 
mother,  who,  animated  by  a  zealous  and  heroic  piety,; 
entirely  devotes  herself  to  the  relief  of  the  indigent  and 
unfortunate. 

During  this  period  she  successively  lost  her  eldest: 
sou  and  daughter,  the  fruit  of  her  first  marriage,  as  well 
as  the  two  boys  whom  she  had  by  her  third  husband, 
so  that  in  her  old  age  I  am  the  only  one  of  her  sons 
who  survives.  The  fatality  of  my  destiny  compels  me 
to  reside  at  a  distance  from  her,  a  circumstance  which, 
has  proved  to  me  a  source  of  much  uneasiness,  and  ,to 


60  MEMOIRS   OF 

which  no  consideration  would  have  tempted  me  to  sub- 
mit, had  I  not  been  well  assured  that  she  found  in  the 
energy  of  her  character  and  in  true  piety  an  ample 
compensation  for  the  loss  of  her  children.  I  trust  I 
may  be  pardoned  this  digression  in  favor  of  the  best 
of  mothers. 

II. 

I  RETAIN  no  recollection  of  the  occurrences  which 
took  place  during  my  boyish  days,  except  that  a  pater- 
nal uncle,  when  I  was  only  three  or  four  years  of  age, 
placed  me  upon  an  old  chest,  and  while  caressing  me, 
gave  me  some  excellent  sweetmeats.  I  remember  little 
more  respecting  him  than  the  figure  of  the  square  shoes 
which  he  usually  wore.  Several  years  after  his  death, 
the  sight  of  a  pair  of  old-fashioned  boots,  with  similar 
toes,  suddenly  recalled  to  my  mind  the  sensations  I  had 
experienced  on  receiving  the  caresses  and  sweetmeats 
from  my  uncle,  whom  I  never  saw  after  I  acquired  the 
use  of  reason ;  the  words,  the  manners,  of  the  worthy 
old  man,  even  the  very  taste  of  the  sweetmeats,  vividly 
recurred  to  my  imagination.  I  have  related  this  in- 
fantile anecdote,  as  it  cannot  be  wholly  useless  to  the 
individual  who  wishes  to  investigate  the  mechanism  of 
our  ideas,  and  the  relations  which  subsist  between 
thoughts  and  sensations. 

When  about  five  years  of  age,  I  was  reduced  to  the 
last  extremity  by  a  violent  dysentery.  It  seems  to  me 
as  if  I  still  retained  in  my  mind  a  certain  recollection 
of  my  torments.  I  knew  not  then  what  death  was,  yet 
I  anxiously  looked  forward  to  it  as  the  termination  of 
my  sufferings.  I  had  heard  it  said,  when  my  youngest 
brother  died,  that  he  would  become  a  little  angel. 

Notwithstanding  all  my  efforts  to  recall  my  primitive 


YITTORIO   ALFIERI.  Gl 

ideas,  or  the  sensations  I  had  felt  previous  to  my  sixth 
year,  I  can  only  remember  these  two.  After  the  nup- 
tials of  my  mother,  my  sister  Julia  and  myself  left  our 
paternal  mansion,  and  accompanied  her  to  the  house 
of  her  husband,  who  proved  more  than  a  father  to  us 
during  the  time  we  remained  under  his  roof. 

My  mother's  eldest  son  and  daughter  were  succes- 
sively sent  to  Turin ;  the  one  to  the  college  of  Jesuits, 
and  the  other  to  a  convent.  Shortly  after  my  sister 
Julia  was  placed  in  a  convent  at  Asti.  I  perfectly  re- 
member this  little  domestic  event,  as  my  faculties  began 
about  that  period  to  unfold  themselves.  I  still  recollect 
the  grief  I  experienced,  and  the  tears  I  shed,  on  this 
separation,  though  we  were  for  some  time  permitted  to 
see  each  other  daily.  Upon  reviewing  the  sensations 
which  I  then  experienced,  I  found  they  were  similar  to 
those  I  afterwards  felt,  when,  in  the  heyday  of  youth, 
I  was  compelled  to  relinquish  the  society  of  any  beloved 
female,  or  sincere  friends,  to  whom  I  was  ardently  at- 
tached; for  I  have  been  fortunate  enough,  during  my 
progress  through  life,  to  possess  three  or  four  of  the 
latter,  —  a  happiness  denied  to  many  others,  perhaps 
far  better  deserving  of  it  than  myself.  The  recollection 
of  the  grief  I  suffered,  on  the  separation  from  my  sister, 
has  afforded  me  a  convincing  proof  that  all  the  affections 
of  man,  however  different  they  may  appear,  originate 
from  the  same  principle. 

After  the  departure  of  the  other  children,  a  worthy 
priest,  named  Ivaldi,  was  taken  into  the  family,  as  my 
preceptor.  From  him  I  learned  writing,  and  the  four 
first  rules  of  arithmetic;  he  also  taught  me  to  read 
Cornelius  Xepos,  as  well  as  Phsedrus's  fables ;  but  the 
good  Father  Ivaldi  was  himself  exceedingly  ignorant, 
as  I  afterwards  discovered ;  and  if  I  had  remained  under 


62  MEMOIRS   OF 

his  tuition  after  my  ninth  year,  my  learning  must  neces- 
sarily have  continued  stationary.  My  parents  them- 
selves were  wholly  destitute  of  literary  acquirements, 
and  I  have  frequently  heard  them  repeat  the  common- 
place maxim  of  those  days,  that  a  nobleman  had  no 
occasion  to  be  a  doctor. 

I  had,  however,  a  natural  inclination  for  study,  espe- 
cially since  the  departure  of  my  sister ;  besides,  the, 
perfect  solitude  in  which  I  lived  with  my  tutor  tended 
to  generate  a  disposition  to  melancholy  and  a  habit 
of  abstraction. 

III. 

I  MUST  here  mention  a  singular  circumstance  con- 
cerning the  development  of  my  romantic  feelings.  From 
the  period  of  my  sister's  departure,  I  had  become  much 
more  melancholy  and  serious  than  usual.  My  visits  to 
this  beloved  sister  became  gradually  less  frequent,  be- 
cause, in  order  that  I  might  bestow  an  undivided  atten- 
tion on  my  studies,  I  only  had  permission  to  visit  her 
on  certain  holidays  and  festivals.  I  experienced  a 
species  of  consolation  in  my  solitude,  from  the  habit 
I  had  acquired  of  daily  frequenting  a  Carmelite  church 
adjoining  our  house,  from  listening  to  the  music,  ob- 
serving the  officiating  monks,  from  attending  to  the 
ceremonies  of  high  mass,  the  processions,  and  similar 
spectacles.  In  a  few  months  I  ceased  to  think  so  often 
of  my  sister,  and  in  the  end  her  image  scarcely  ever 
occurred  to  my  mind ;  so  much  was  I  occupied  by 
attending  morning  and  evening  at  the  Carm elites.  To 
this  attendance  I  was  induced  by  the  following  reason : 
From  the  period  when  my  sister  was  sent  to  the  con- 
vent, I  had  never  beheld  a  youthful  countenance,  except 
those  of  the  Carmelite  novices,  most  of  whom  were  about 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  63 

fourteen  or  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  who  assisted  at  the ; 
different  festivals,  habited  in  the  white  robes  of  their, 
order.  Their  features,  which  partook  of  the  feminine, 
character,  made  .on  my  tender  and  artless  heart  the 
same  impression  as  those  of  my  sister,  and  I  felt  the  same 
desire  to  again  behold  them.  This  sentiment,  modified 
in  so  many  different  ways,  was  however  equivalent  to 
love.  When  reflecting  on  it,  several  years  afterwards, 
I  became  more  fully  convinced  of  this  truth  ;  for  at  the ; 
time  I  was  wholly  unacquainted  with  the  true  nature 
of  my  own  feelings.  I  merely  obeyed  the  pure  impulse 
of  nature.  So  ardent  did  my  innocent  attachment  to 
these  novices  become,  that  I  unceasingly  thought  on 
them  and  their  functions.  Sometimes  my  imagination 
represented;  them  to  me  holding  their  wax  tapers  in: 
their  hands,  performing  the  service  with  a  devout  and> 
angelic  air,  sometimes  burning  incense  at  the  foot  of 
the  altar.  Wholly  absorbed  by  these  images,  I  neg- 
lected my  studies ;  all  employment  was  irksome  to  me, 
and  I  became  disgusted  with  society.  Being  one  day 
left  alone  by  my  preceptor,  I  sought  in  my  Latin  and 
Italian  dictionaries  for  the  word  Monk  ;  I  immediately 
cancelled  it,  and  wrote  that  of  Father  in  its  stead ;  thus; 
conceiving,  I  knew  not  why,  that  I  was  ennobling  the 
young  monks  whom  I  saw  every  day,  but  with  whom1 
I  had  never  conversed,  and  respecting  whom  I  could' 
not  define  my  own  sentiments.  The  reason  which  in- 
duced me  to  make  this  alteration  was,  having  often 
heard  the  term  Monk  pronounced  with  a  sort  of  con- 
tempt, and  the  word  Father  with  veneration  and  affec- 
tion. I  carefully  concealed  from  my  preceptor  those 
rude  corrections  awkwardly  made  with  a  pen.  He 
neither  perceived  nor  appeared  to  suspect  it ;  such  an 
idea  could  never  enter  his  mind.  Whoever  reflects  on. 


64  MEMOIRS   OF 

this  trifling  action,  and  endeavors  to  trace  in  it  the  germ 
of  human  passions,  will  not  perhaps  conceive  it  so  puerile 
and  ridiculous  as  it  may  at  first  sight  appear. 

These  singular  effects,  proceeding  from  a  sentiment 
wholly  unknown  to  myself,  but  yet  acting  so  power- 
fully on  my  imagination,  gave  rise  to  that  melancholy 
which  became  gradually  a  predominant  trait  of  my 
character,  and  ultimately  influenced  all  the  other  qual- 
ities of  my  mind. 

When  about  seven  or  eight  years  of  age,  finding 
myself  in  one  of  these  melancholy  humors,  perhaps 
occasioned  by  the  weak  state  of  my  health,  after  having 
seen  my  preceptor  and  attendant  go  out,  I  darted  from 
my  little  ^cabinet,  which  was  level  with  the  ground,  and 
proceeded  to  a  second  court,  covered  with  a  profusion 
of  plants,  which  I  immediately  began  to  tear  up  by 
handfuls,  and  devour  with  the  greatest  avidity,  not- 
withstanding their  pungent  and  bitter  taste.  I  had 
heard  hemlock  mentioned  as  being  an  herb  fatal  to  the 
life  of  man  ;  and  though  I  wished  not  to  die,  nor  indeed 
scarcely  knew  what  death  was,  nevertheless,  led  away 
by  a  sort  of  natural  instinct,  mingled  with  some  secret 
and  undefined  grief,  I  eagerly  devoured  the  plants 
which  fell  in  my  way,  under  the  supposition  that  I  had 
discovered  hemlock  ;  but,  disgusted  with  their  nauseous 
and  bitter  taste,  and  finding  myself  sick  at  stomach,  I 
went  into  a  garden  adjoining  the  house,  without  being 
seen  by  any  one,  and  disgorged  what  I  had  swallowed. 
Returning  to  my  chamber,  I  remained  alone,  without 
uttering  a  word,  experiencing  a  slight  colic  and  pains 
in  my  stomach.  On  my  preceptor's  return,  he  did  not 
remark  my  uneasiness,  and  I  was  silent  on  the  subject. 
Shortly  after  I  was  summoned  to  dinner,  and  iny 
mother,  on  perceiving  my  eyes  swollen  and  inflamed  as 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  65 

they  usually  are  after  violent  retching,  insisted  on  know- 
ing what  had  happened.  While  she  continued  to  im- 
portune me,  the  colic  pains  increased  so  much  that  I 
could  not  eat,  nevertheless  I  still  obstinately  remained 
silent,  and  made  the  greatest  efforts  to  conceal  my 
sufferings.  On  attentively  observing  me  for  some  time, 
she  became  more  and  more  convinced  that  I  really 
labored  under  some  severe  ailment,  and  at  the  same 
time,  noticing  the  greenish  color  of  my  lips,  which  I  had 
forgotten  to  wash,  she  became  terrified,  and,  hastily 
approaching  me,  entreated  with  so  much  earnestness 
that  I  would  impart  to  her  the  cause  of  my  distress, 
that,  overcome  by  terror  and  grief,  I  burst  into  tears, 
and  avowed  the  truth.  Some  simple  remedies  were 
administered,  and  I  suffered  no  injurious  consequences 
from  my  folly,  except  a  few  days'  seclusion  in  my 
chamber,  by  way  of  punishment,  which  afforded  me  an 
opportunity  of  brooding  over  my  melancholy  ideas. 


IV. 

I  MUST  now  give  a  sketch  of  the  character  which  I 
displayed  at  the  period  when  reason  began  to  dawn  on 
my  infant  mind.  Taciturn  and  calm,  petulant  and 
talkative  by  turas,  my  spirits  were  always  in  extremes  ; 
resisting  force,  but  submissive  to  the  voice  of  friend- 
ship. I  was  more  restrained  by  the  dread  of  being  repri- 
manded, than  by  any  other  consideration;  in  short, 
though  excessively  timid,  I  was  inflexible  when  any 
one  attempted  to  overcome  me  by  open  force. 

The  better  to  account  to  my  readers  and  myself  for 
these  primitive  qualities,  which  nature  had  imprinted 
011  my  mind,  among  other  little  anecdotes  of  my  child- 
hood, I  shall  relate  two  or  three  which  I  perfectly 


66  MEMOIRS   OF 

"remember,  and  which  clearly  depict  my  character.  Of 
all  the  punishments  at  anytime  inflicted  on  me,  that 
which  affected  me  with  the  most  violent  grief  was  being- 
sent  to  mass,  with  a  net  on  my  head  in  the  form  of  a 
nightcap,  and  which  almost  entirely  concealed  my 
hair.  The  first  time  I  underwent  this  penance,  on 
what  occasion  I  do  not  now  recollect,  my  preceptor 
dragged  me  by  the  hand  to  the  Carmelite  church 
already  mentioned,  which  was  never  much  frequented, 
'aiid  which  at  this  time  contained  only  about  forty  per- 
sons. This  punishment  afflicted  me  so  much  that  for 
about  three  months  my  behavior  was  irreprehensible. 
This  effect  appears  to  have  been  chiefly  produced  by 
the  two v  following  causes:  I  supposed  that  all  eyes 
must  necessarily  be  fixed  on  the  fatal  nightcap,  and 
that  it  rendered  me  extremely  ugly  and  deformed  5  in 
short,  that  every  one  who  beheld  me  punished  in  this 
terrible  manner  would  regard  me  as  the  worst  of  cul- 
prits. But  what  above  all  pierced  me  to  the  heart, 
was  the  dread  of  being  observed  in  such  a  situation  by 
my  revered  novices.  My  readers  will  behold  in  these 
traits  of  my  infantile  feeling  a  picture  of  themselves, 
and  of  human  beings  of  every  age,  since  men  may  in 
Isome  measure  through  life  be  regarded  as  children. 
;  The  salutary  effect  produced  on  me  by  this  punish- 
ment gave  so  much  satisfaction  to  my  preceptor  and 
my  parents,  that  on  the  least  appearance  of  a  fault  I 
was  threatened  with  the  detested  nightcap,  at  the  sight 
of  which  I  always  trembled,  and  promptly  returned  to 
my  duty.  Having,  however,  one  day  committed  & 
trifling  fault,  to  excuse  which  I  told  my  mother  a  false- 
hood, this  so-much-dreaded  punishment  was  again  to 
be  inflicted  on  me ;  added  to  which,  I  was  told,  that  in 
place  of  being  conducted  to  the  deserted  Carmelite 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  '67 

church,  I  should  be  taken  to  that  of  Saint  Martini, 
which  stood  at  a  considerable  distance  from  our  house, 
in  the  centre  of  the  city,  and  was  always  crowded  at 
noon  with  the  indolent  votaries  of  fashion.  Alas ! 
what  horror  did  I  not  experience  !  I  entreated,  I  wept, 
I  was  in  despair,  but  all  in  vain.  What  a  night  I 
passed  !  I  conceived  it  would  be  the  last  of  my  life  ;  I 
never  closed  my  eyes.  Amid  all  the  misfortunes  I  have 
experienced  in  my  progress  through  life,  I  do  not 
recollect  to  have  spent  one  more  dreadful.  The  hour 
at  length  arrived :  covered  with  the  dreadful  nightcap, 
weeping,  howling,  I  set  out,  dragged  by  my  preceptor, 
and  pushed  forward  by  the  domestic.  In  this  manner 
I  traversed  two  or  three  streets,  without  encountering 
a  living  being ;  but  as  soon  as  wre  entered  the  more 
frequented  parts  of  the  city  near  to  the  church,  I  sud- 
denly ceased  to  weep  or  cry,  and  instead  of  requiring 
to  be  dragged  forward,  I  walked  peaceably,  and  at  a 
raj »id  pace,  close  by  the  side  of  Father  Ivaldi,  in  the 
hope  of  partly  screening  myself  from  notice  under  the 
large  sleeve  of  his  cloak,  and  to  which  my  little  figure 
hardly  reached.  I  arrived  in  the  middle  of  the  church, 
led  by  the  hand  like  one  who  was  blind ;  for  in  fact, 
having  shut  my  eyes  the  moment  I  set  my  foot  on  the 
threshold,  I  never  opened  them  till  I  was  forced  to 
kneel  in  my  place  in  order  to  hear  the  mass,  and  even 
then  I  lowered  them,  so  as  not  to  distinguish  any  of 
the  congregation.  On  leaving  the  church,  I  returned 
home  in  the  same  manner,  despair  in  my  heart,  believ- 
ing myself  forever  dishonored.  During  the  remainder 
of  the  day,  I  neither  ate,  spoke,  studied,  nor  even  wept; 
in  fact,  my  grief  was  so  violent  that  I  fell  sick,  and 
continued  indisposed  for  several  days,  which  so  terrified 
•Uriy  affectionate  motheiy  that  I  was  never  again  sub- 


68  MEMOIRS   OF 

jected  to  a  similar  punishment ;  while,  on  my  part,  I 
carefully  avoided  being  guilty  of  another  falsehood.  I 
know  not  whether  it  is  imputahle  to  the  happy  effect 
of  the  nightcap,  that  I  have  been  through  life  the 
most  candid  and  least  given  to  deceit  of  any  individual 
with  whom  I  am  acquainted.  I  shall  here  mention 
another  little  anecdote :  My  maternal  aunt,  a  lady 
of  distinction  at  Turin  and  the  widow  of  one  of  the 
greatest  noblemen  of  the  court,  arrived  on  a  visit  at 
Asti,  surrounded  with  all  that  pomp  and  splendor  which 
make  such  a  powerful  impression  on  the  minds  of  chil- 
dren. She  remained  a  few  days  with  my  mother,  but 
though  she  lavished  on  me  caresses,  unreasonable  as  it 
may  appear,  I  never  could  become  familiar  with  her. 
Before  her  departure,  she  inquired  what  would  please 
me,  and  I  should  have  it.  But  shame,  timidity,  and 
irresolution,  combined  with  obstinacy,  withheld  me 
from  making  any  reply  except  the  word  nothing  ;  and 
though  all  those  by  whom  I  was  surrounded  reiterated 
the  question  in  twenty  different  ways,  in  order  to  draw 
from  me  a  more  polite  answer,  yet  they  could  only  gain 
by  their  importunity  the  repetition  of  the  same  eternal 
nothing.  For  some  time  this  word  was  uttered  with 
vivacity,  and  in  a  voice  trembling  with  irritation,  but 
at  length  it  was  accompanied  with  tears  and  interrupted 
by  sobs.  I  was  dismissed  from  their  presence,  as  I  so 
well  merited,  and  shut  up  in  my  chamber,  where  I 
could  repeat  at  my  ease  my  favorite  nothing,  while  in 
the  mean  time  my  aunt  departed.  But  though  I  had 
thus  obstinately  refused  her  gifts,  I  had  several  days 
before  stolen  from  one  of  her  trunks,  which  had  been 
accidentally  left  open,  a  fan,  which  I  concealed  in  my  bed, 
and  which  was  discovered  some  time  afterwards.  On 
being  questioned  respecting  it,  I  truly  said  that  I  intended 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  69 

to  present  it  to  my  sister ;  a  severe  chastisement  followed 
this  robbery.  But  although  a  thief  is  certainly  worse 
than  a  liar,  1  was  neither  threatened  nor  punished  with 
the  nightcap,  so  much  more  terrified  was  my  mother 
to  see  me  fall  sick  of  grief  than  alarmed  lest  I  should 
become  a  little  knave.  Dishonesty  is  a  crime  not  much 
to  be  feared,  nor  is  it  difficult  to  eradicate  among  those 
who  are  not  driven  to  it  through  necessity.  Respect 
for  the  property  of  others  quickly  takes  root,  and  grows 
up  among  individuals  who  possess  wealth  of  their  own. 

I  shall  here  only  mention  another  anecdote  respecting 
my  first  confession;  when  I  was  between  seven  and  eight 
years  of  age. 

My  preceptor  prepared  me  for  this  ceremony  by  sug- 
gesting all  the  various  crimes  of  which  he  conceived 
I  might  have  been  guilty,  many  of  which  I  knew  not 
even  by  name.  Having  undergone  this  precious  exam- 
ination by  Ivaldi,  a  day  was  fixed  on  which  I  was  to 
make  my  little  confession  at  the  feet  of  Father  Angelo, 
a  Carmelite  priest,  who  was  also  the  confessor  of  my 
mother.  When  I  prostrated  myself  before  him,  I  re- 
mained silent,  so  great  was  the  grief  and  repugnance  I 
felt  at  being  forced  to  reveal  my  secrets,  my  actions, 
and  my  thoughts,  to  one  whom  1  scarcely  knew.  I 
believe  that  the  father  himself  suggested  my  confession, 
though  he  declared  himself  satisfied,  and  bestowed  on 
me  absolution ;  at  the  same  time  enjoining  me  as  a 
penance,  to  throw  myself  before  sitting  down  to  dinner 
at  the  feet  of  my  mother,  and  publicly  soliciting  her 
pardon  for  all  my  past  faults.  This  penance  was  to 
me  extremely  disagreeable,  not  that  I  felt  the  slightest 
repugnance  to  ask  pardon  of  my  mother ;  but  to  kneel 
in  presence  of  all  those  who  might  be  present,  was  to 
me  an  insupportable  punishment.  When  I  entered  the 


70  MEMOIRS   OF 

dining-room  on  my  return  home,  where  I  found  a  large 
company  already  assembled,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  all 
eyes  were  fixed  on  me,  and  I  threw  down  mine.  Ir- 
resolute, confused,  and  immovable,  I  durst  not  approach 
,the  table  where  they  were  taking  their  places,  though 
I  suspected  not  that  any  one  was  acquainted  with  the 
penance  I  had  been  enjoined.  Assuming  therefore  a 
little  courage,  I  advanced  to  seat  myself  among  the 
others,  when  my  mother,  regarding  me  with  a  stern 
aspect,  inquired  if  I  had  really  a  right  to  place  myself 
at  table ;  if  I  had  fulfilled  my  duty ;  and  if,  in  short,  I 
had  nothing  wherewith  to  reproach  myself.  Each  of 
these  questions  went  like  a  dagger  to  my  heart ;  my 
mournful  aspect  spoke  with  sufficient  plainness,  for  I 
was  unable  to  articulate  a  single  word.  There  were, 
no  means,  however,  to  make  me  execute  my  penance, 
or  even  declare  what  it  was,  as  my  mother  on  her  side 
was  unwilling  to  commit  my  unfaithful  confessor;  so 
that  the  affair  ended  in  this,  that  she  lost  her  obeisance 
and  I  my  dinner,  and  perhaps  also  the  absolution  given 
to  me  by  Father  Angelo  on  such  a  hard  condition.  At 
that  period  I  had  not,  however,  sagacity  to  discover  that 
the  father  had  agreed  with  my  mother  what  penance 
it  would  be  proper  to  impose  on  me.  But  the  feelings 
of  my  heart  supplied  the  place  of  judgment;  I  con- 
ceived from  that  period  a  great  hatred  towards  the 
monk,  and  displayed  very  little  inclination  to  again 
approach  the  confessional,  though  he  never  again  at- 
tempted to  enjoin  me  any  public  penances. 


V. 

MY  eldest  brother,  the  Marquis  Cacherano,  who  for 
some  years  had  pursued  his  studies  in  the  College  of 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  71 

the  Jesuits  at  Turin,  came  to  spend  the  vacation  at 
Asti.  He  was  then  about  fourteen,  and  I  myself  nearly 
eight  years  of  age  ;  his  presence  afforded  me  at  the 
same  time  a  subject  of  pleasure  and  chagrin.  Not 
being  children  of  the  same  father,  he  was  in  a  great 
measure  a  stranger  to  me,  and  I  felt  not  for  him  any 
real  friendship.  We  often  sported  together,  and  I 
believe  habit  might  have  produced  in  my  mind  some 
affection  towards  him ;  but  he  was  older  than  I,  had 
more  liberty,  possessed  more  money,  and  received  more 
attention  from  his  parents.  He  had  likewise  seen  more 
of  the  world,  during  his  stay  at  Turin,  could  construe 
Virgil,  —  and  wrhat  was  I  yet  acquainted  with  ?  He 
possessed  many  other  little  advantages  over  me,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  envy  began  to  spring  up  in  my  mind. 

It  was  not,  however,  a  base  passion,  because  it  did 
not  lead  me  to  hate  the  individual,  but  only  ardently 
to  desire  that  I  might  possess  the  same  advantages, 
without  wishing  to  deprive  him  of  them.  Such  is  the 
distinction  I  would  make  between  the  two  species  of 
envy;  that  which  takes  root  in  base  minds  displays 
itself  in  hatred,  against  every  one  possessed  of  the 
smallest  superiority,  and  in  a  desire  to  injure  and 
deprive  them  even  of  what  cannot  benefit  them- 
selves; the  other,  which  emanates  from  generous 
souls,  is  evinced  under  the  name  of  emulation,  by  an 
ardent  longing  to  obtain  the  same  superiority  in  an 
equal  or  even  a  greater  degree  than  others.  Thus  we 
see  how  imperceptible  is  the  line  which  separates  the 
germ  of  our  virtues  and  vices. 

My  brother  and  I  passed  our  time  sometimes  in 
sporting  together,  in  wrestling,  and  in  various  other 
exercises.  In  this  way  the  summer  glided  on  more 
joyously  with  me  than  usual,  as  I  had  always  before 


72  MEMOIRS  OF 

been  the  only  child  in  the  house,  and  nothing  is  more 
wearisome  to  the  youthful  mind  than  perfect  solitude. 
One  day,  among  others,  which  was  excessively  hot, 
when  the  rest  of  the  family  retired  after  dinner  to  take 
a  nap,  we  amused  ourselves  with  performing  the  Prus- 
sian exercise,  which  my  brother  had  previously  taught 
me.  On  making  a  half- turn  to  the  right  when  march- 
ing, I  fell,  and  struck  my  head  against  one  of  the 
andirons,  which  had  been  left  by  mistake  in  the  chim- 
ney since  the  preceding  winter.  The  ornamental  knobs 
which  are  usually  adapted  to  the  point  in  front  of  the 
chimney  had  been  broken  off;  it  was  on  one  of  the  sharp 
points  that  I  wounded  myself,  about  a  finger-breadth 
above  the  left  eyebrow.  The  scar  of  this  wound, 
which  was  large  and  deep,  is  still  visible,  and  will  re- 
main so  through  life ;  I  sprung  up  without  assistance, 
and  immediately  called  out  to  my  brother  to  say  nothing, 
as  at  the  time  I  was  not  sensible  I  had  received  any 
injury;  and  was  besides  keenly  alive  to  the  shame  of 
having  displayed  so  little  dexterity  in  the  performance 
of  my  exercise  ;  but  I  was  too  late,  for  my  brother  had 
already  flown  to  awaken  my  preceptor.  The  noise 
had  even  reached  my  mother,  and  the  whole  house 
was  in  an  uproar.  In  the  mean  time  I  remained  per- 
fectly quiet,  till,  finding  something  warm  flowing  down 
my  visage,  I  put  up  my  hand,  and  on  perceiving  it 
was  blood  I  began  to  cry  bitterly.  It  was  merely, 
however,  through  terror,  for  I  perfectly  recollect  that 
I  experienced  no  pain  till  the  surgeon  began  to  ex- 
amine and  dress  the  wound.  Several  weeks  elapsed 
before  it  was  completely  healed,  and  for  a  few  days  I 
was  wholly  confined  to  my  chamber,  as  the  swelling 
and  inflammation  were  so  excessive  as  to  threaten  the 
loss  of  my  eye. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  73 

During  my  convalescence,  and  before  the  bandages 
were  thrown  aside,  I  frequently  attended  the  Carmelite 
church  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  though  these  dress- 
ings disfigured  me  much  more  than  the  net  nightcap, 
which  was  of  a  green  color,  neatly  made,  and  altogether 
similar  to  those  worn  for  ornament  by  the  petits-maitres 
of  Andalusia.  When  travelling  afterwards  in  Spain,  I 
myself  adopted  this  fashion.  I  felt  not  then  the  least  re- 
pugnance to  appear  in  public  with  all  my  surgical  dress- 
ings, either  because  the  idea  of  the  danger  I  had  run 
flattered  my  childish  pride,  or  because  I  associated 
some  idea  of  glory  with  this  wound.  This  must  un- 
questionably have  been  the  case,  for  though  not  now 
able  to  recall  the  precise  ideas  that  passed  through  my 
mind  at  the  time,  I  well  remember  that  when  any  one 
inquired  of  my  preceptor  what  accident  had  befallen 
me,  and  he  replied  it  was  in  consequence  of  a  fall,  I 
always  added,  when  performing  my  exercise. 

It  is  evident,  if  we  carefully  attend  to  what  passes 
in  the  minds  of  children,  that  we  may  discover  the 
nascent  principles  of  our  virtues  and  vices;  thus  the 
feelings  I  experienced  on  this  occasion  afforded  an  early 
indication  of  the  love  of  glory,  though  neither  the 
priest  Ivaldi  nor  any  of  my  family  were  capable  of 
perceiving  it. 

About  a  year  after  my  eldest  brother's  return  to  the 
college  at  Turin,  he  became  affected  with  a  pulmonic 
complaint,  which,  degenerating  into  phthisic,  soon  con- 
ducted him  to  the  tomb.  At  the  commencement  of 
his  illness  he  returned  from  college,  when  I  was  sent 
to  the  country  to  preserve  me  from  receiving  any  in- 
jury. In  fact,  he  died  at  Asti  in  the  course  of  the 
summer,  without  my  having  ever  again  seen  him.  In 
the  mean  time  my  paternal  uncle,  the  Chevalier  Pelle- 


74  MEMOIRS   OF 

grino  Alfieri,  to  whom  the  management  of  my  prop- 
erty had  been  confided  since  the  death  of  my  father, 
and  who  had  just  returned  from  his  travels  through 
France,  Holland,  and  England,  paid  us  a  visit  at  Asti. 
Being  a  man  of  great  intelligence,  he  immediately 
perceived  that  I  must  remain  extremely  ignorant  if 
the  same  system  were  continued  in  regard  to  my  edu- 
cation. A  few  months  after  his  arrival  at  Turin  he 
wrote  to  my  mother,  to  inform  her  that  it  was  his  de- 
termination to  place  me  at  the  Academy  of  that  city. 
The  period  of  my  departure  coincided  with  the  death 
of  my  brother.  I  can  never  forget  the  figure,  actions, 
and  discourse  of  my  mother,  who  was  inconsolable  on 
this  occasion.  u  God,"  she  exclaimed,  sobbing,  "has 
bereaved  me  of  one  child  forever,  and  who  knows  for 
how  long  a  time  I  may  be  deprived  of  the  other  ?  " 
By  her  third  husband  she  had  an  only  daughter  and 
two  sons,  successively  born  during  my  stay  in  the 
Academy  of  Turin.  Her  grief  deeply  affected  me; 
but  in  a  short  time  the  desire  of  beholding  new  scenes, 
of  travelling  post  in  a  few  days,  I,  who  had  hitherto 
never  travelled  beyond  fifteen  miles  from  Asti  in  a 
carriage  drawn  by  two  peaceable  oxen ;  in  short,  a 
thousand  other  infantile  ideas  which  my  vivid  imagina- 
tion presented  to  my  mind  tended  in  a  great  measure 
to  assuage  the  grief  occasioned  by  my  brother's  death, 
as  well  as  by  the  affliction  of  my  mother.  But  when 
the  moment  of  departure  drew  nigh,  I  was  ready  to 
expire  with  grief;  it  cost  me  perhaps  still  more  to 
take  leave  of  my  preceptor  Ivaldi  than  even  to  bid 
adieu  to  my  mother. 

Placed  almost  by  force  in  the  carnage  by  a  worthy 
old  man,  who  was  to  accompany  me  to  my  uncle's  at 
Turin,  I  at  length  set  out,  attended  by  a  domestic. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  75 


lie  was  named  Andrea,  from  Alessandria,  a  youth  of 
great  intelligence,  and  tolerably  well  educated,  consid- 
ering his  condition  in  life,  as  in  our  country  reading 
and  writing  were  not  then  very  generally  taught  to 
the  lower  orders. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  June,  1758,  I  know  not  on 
what  day,  that  I  left  my  maternal  home  at  a  very  early 
hour  in  the  morning.  I  did  nothing  hut  weep  during 
the  first  stage.  On  changing  horses  I  alighted  in  a 
courtyard,  and  being  extremely  thirsty,  without  asking 
f,»r  a  glass  of  water,  I  approached  the  horses'  trough, 
and,  dipping  in  one  of  the  corners  of  my  hat,  quenched 
my  thirst  without  further  ceremony.  My  mentor,  in- 
formed of  what  I  had  done  by  the  postilion,  severely 
reprimanded  me ;  but  I  replied  that  when  people  were 
travelling  they  ought  to  accustom  themselves  to  every- 
thing, and  that  a  good  soldier  should  never  drink  in 
any  other  manner.  How  I  acquired  these  warlike 
ideas  I  know  not,  for  my  mother  had  brought  me  up 
very  effeminately,  and  had  taken  the  most  ridiculous 
precautions  in  order  to  preserve  iny  health.  They  must 
have  originated  in  a  small  portion  of  vanity,  which 
began  to  display  itself  in  my  character  from  the  mo- 
ment I  was  freed  from  the  restraint  of  authority. 

I  shall  here  terminate  the  first  epoch  of  my  child- 
hood. I  am  now  about  to  enter  on  a  more  extensive 
sphere  of  action,  and  I  trust  I  shall  be  able  better, 
though  with  more  brevity,  to  depict  my  character  than 
I  have  hitherto  done.  This  sketch  of  my  early  infancy, 
which  perhaps,  separately  taken,  is  very  useless,  will 
be  /regarded  as  still  more  so  by  those  who,  believing 
themselves  men,  forget  that  man  is  only  a  continuation 
of  the  child. 


SECOND    EPOCH. 


ADOLESCENCE. 

INCLUDING  EIGHT   YEARS   OF  UNPRODUCTIVE 
EDUCATION. 


I. 

[EHOLD  me  then  travelling  with  the  utmost 
rapidity,  thanks  to  the  drink-money  which  I 
had  obtained  from  my  travelling  companion 
to  bestow  on  the  first  postilion.  This  gained 
me  the  good-will  of  the  second,  who  posted  on  with 
incredible  celerity ;  and  from  time  to  time  turned  his 
head,  smiling,  and  making  a  sign  with  his  eye  in  order 
to  obtain  a  similar  gratuity  from  the  steward,  who, 
already  old,  and  being  exhausted  by  relating  a  thou- 
sand foolish  anecdotes  in  order  to  console  me,  after- 
wards fell  into  a  profound  sleep,  and  snored  aloud. 
The  rapid  motion  of  the  carriage  conveyed  to  my  mind 
a  sensation  of  pleasure  I  had  never  before  experienced ; 
for  in  my  mother's  coach,  which  I  indeed  seldom  en- 
tered, we  never  exceeded  a  slow  trot.  The  entrance 
into  this  city  by  the  Porta  Nuova,  the  whole  way  to 
the  Annunziata,  near  to  which  my  uncle  resided,  ap- 
peared in  my  eyes  so  extremely  beautiful  and  magnifi- 
cent as  to  overwhelm  me  with  rapture.  The  evening, 


VITTORIO   ALFIEEI.  77 

however,  did  not  pass  so  happily  away.  I  found  my- 
self in  an  unknown  mansion  among  strangers,  without 
my  mother,  without  my  preceptor,  and  in  presence  of  my 
uncle,  whom  I  had  scarcely  seen  above  once,  and  who 
was  infinitely  less  kind  and  affable  than  my  mother.  I 
felt  all  the  sorrow  of  the  preceding  day  renewed.  In  a 
few  days,  however,  I  became  habituated  to  all  these  nov- 
elties. I  even  acquired  a  degree  of  vivacity  I  had  never 
before  displayed,  and  which  became  so  troublesome  to 
my  uncle  that  he  found  it  necessary  to  restrain  it.  I  not 
only  kept  the  house  in  an  uproar,  but,  having  no  pre- 
ceptor, my  time  was  absolutely  lost.  Instead,  there- 
fore, of  deferring  my  entrance  to  the  Academy  till 
October,  according  to  his  original  design,  he  sent  me  to 
it  on  the  1st  of  August,  1758. 

.  Thus  at  the  age  of  nine  years  and  a  half  I  suddenly 
found  myself  transplanted  among  strangers,  wholly 
separated  from  my  parent,  isolated  and  abandoned, 
thus  to  speak,  to  myself;  for  this  species  of  public 
education,  if  it  deserve  the  name,  has  no  influence 
over  the  mind  of  youth ;  and,  God  knows,  even  their 
studies  are  too  often  neglected.  No  maxims  of  moral- 
ity, no  rules  for  their  conduct  through  lite,  are  ever 
inculcated  in  their  tender  minds;  and  how,  indeed, 
could  it  be  done  by  professors,  who  are  themselves, 
both  in  theory  and  practice,  wholly  unacquainted  with 
the  world  I 

This  academy  was  a  magnificent  edifice  of  a  quad- 
rangular form,  with  an  immense  court  in  the  middle. 
Two  sides  of  the  building  were  occupied  by  the  pupils, 
the  two  others  by  the  Theatre  Royal  and  the  Royal 
Archives.  Facing  the  latter  was  that  which  we  occu- 
pied, and  which  was  called  the  second  and  third  apart- 
ment ;  opposite  the  theatre  were  those  of  the  first,  of 


78  MEMOIRS   OF 

which  I  shall  shortly  speak.  The  upper  gallery  on 
our  side  was  denominated  the  third  apartment,  and  was 
appropriated  to  the  youngest  pupils  and  the  inferior 
schools.  The  gallery  upon  the  first  floor,  called  the 
second  gallery,  was  reserved  for  adults,  a  half  or 
third  of  whom  studied  at  the  university,  an  edifice 
contiguous  to  the  academy ;  the  others  were  occupied 
by  those  who  studied  military  tactics.  Every  gallery 
contained  at  least  four  sleeping-rooms,  in  each  of  which 
eleven  pupils  were  accommodated,  over  whom  a  priest 
presided,'  termed  an  assistant,  and  who,  for  the  most 
part,  was  only  a  peasant  habited  in  the  garb  of  a  priest, 
to  whom  no  salary  was  allowed.  Having  board  and 
lodging,  these  assistants  generally  directed  their  atten- 
tion to  the  study  of  theology  or  law.  Sometimes, 
however,  old  ignorant  priests  were  appointed  to  this 
office.  One  third,  at  least,  of  the  side  of  this  build- 
ing, called  the  first  apartment,  was  occupied  by  the 
king's  pages  to  the  number  of  twenty  or  twenty-five, 
who  were  completely  separated  from  us  by  the  oppo- 
site angle  of  the  laiye  court. 

As  for  us  young  students,  we  were,  as  must  be  ob- 
vious, very  ill  situated,  between  a  theatre  which  we 
were  not  allowed  to  enter  above  five  or  six  times  in  the 
year,  during  the  carnival;  and  the  pages,  who,  from 
attending  the  amusements  of  their  royal  master,  seemed 
to  enjoy  a  much  more  free  and  varied  mode  of  life  than 
our  own;  they  even  vied  with  those  foreigners  who 
occupied  the  first  apartment,  almost  to  the  exclusion 
of  the  natives.  They  consisted  'chiefly  of  English, 
Russians,  and  Germans,  and  a  few  individuals  from 
other  states  of  Italy.  It  resembled  an  inn  rather  than 
jin  academy ;  they  were  subjected  to  no  restraint,  except 
that  of  returning  before  midnight.  They  were,  besides, 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  79 

allowed  to  go  to  court,  and  to  attend  public  spectacles 
in  whatever  company  they  pleased.  The  greatest 
punishment  to  us  poor  inhabitants  of  the  second  and 
third  apartment  was  the  local  situation  of  the  place ; 
being  such,  that,  in  order  to  reach  the  chapel,  or  repair 
to  the  dancing  or  fencing  room,  we  were  obliged  to 
pass  through  the  gallery  of  the  first  apartment,  and 
have  constantly  under  our  eyes  the  insulting  and  un- 
ruly conduct  of  its  foreign  inmates,  which  we  could  ill 
reconcile  with  the  severity  of  the  discipline  to  which  we 
were  subjected,  and  which  we  compared  to  that  of  a 
galley-slave.  Those  who  formed  such  an  arrangement 
must  have  been  altogether  unacquainted  with  the  nature 
of  the  human  heart,  otherwise  they  must  have  been 
aware  of  the  baneful  influence  which  the  sight  of  such 
constant  dissipation  must  have  produced  on  the  minds 
of  youth. 

II. 

I  WAS  then  domesticated  in  what  was  termed  the 
best  chamber  of  the  third  apartment,  under  the  care  of 
my  domestic  Andrea,  who,  in  the  absence  of  my  mother, 
uncle,  and  every  other  relative,  tyrannized  over  me 
with  the  malignity  of  a  demon.  The  day  after  my  en- 
trance at  the  academy  I  underwent  an  examination  in 
presence  of  the  professors,  that  they  might  ascertain 
whether  1  was  sufficiently  qualified  to  be  admitted  into 
the  fourth  class,  and  they  assured  me  I  might  very 
readily  be  transferred  to  the  third  in  three  months,  if  I 
pursued  my  studies  with  assiduity.  It  was  now  that 
I  first  became  sensible  of  the  power  of  emulation,  since 
in  conjunction  with  other  youths  somewhat  older  than 
myself,  I  was  admitted  to  a  new  examination  in  the 
month  of  November,  in  consequence  of  which  I  rose  to 


80  MEMOIRS   OF 

the  third  class.  Our  master  was  a  priest,  named  De- 
giovanui,  if  possible  more  ignorant  than  even  my  first 
preceptor,  Ivaldi,  and  who  had  not  like  him  any  affec- 
tion towards  me,  or  much  solicitude  for  my  improve- 
ment, having  the  charge  of  fifteen  or  sixteen  scholars, 
who  had  all  an  equal  right  to  that  attention,  of  which 
he  was  not  very  prodigal. 

It  was  thus  I  was  trained  np  in  this  little  school,  the 
most  ignorant  among  the  ignorant,  and  under  the  care 
of  masters  not  much  more  enlightened  than  ourselves. 
We  had  given  us  to  translate  Cornelius  Nepos,  and 
some  of  the  Eclogues  of  Virgil.  We  composed  very 
foolish  insipid  exercises,  so  that  in  any  other  college, 
where  the  pursuits  of  the  pupils  were  better  directed, 
we  would  have  at  most  appeared  as  a  very  backward 
fourth  class.  Stimulated,  however,  by  emulation,  I 
had  outstripped  the  best  of  my  companions ;  but  as 
soon  as  I  had  attained  this  eminence  I  slackened  my 
zeal,  and  sunk  into  a  kind  of  torpor.  This  was,  per- 
haps, excusable,  as  nothing  could  exceed  the  weari- 
someness  and  insipidity  of  such  studies.  We  rendered, 
it  is  true,  the  Lives  of  Cornelius  Nepos  into  Italian  ;  but 
none  of  us,  not  even  the  master  himself,  knew  the  his- 
tory of  the  individuals  whose  lives  we  translated,  what 
country  had  given  them  birth,  at  what  period  and 
under  what  government  they  flourished,  nor,  in  short, 
what  was  meant  by  a  government.  All  our  ideas  were 
limited,  confused,  or  erroneous ;  there  were  no  objects 
either  to  attract  the  scholar  or  the  master.  Our  time 
was  shamefully  lost ;  not  through  want  of  application, 
for  those  who  exerted  the  most  had  nothing  to  learn. 
In  this  manner  the  best  days  of  our  youth  were  con- 
sumed in  vain.  The  whole  of  the  year  J759  was 
wasted  in  similar  pursuits,  after  which  I  was  trans- 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  81 

ferred  to  the  higher  classes.  The  master,  Father 
Amatis,  who  was  an  intelligent  and  sagacious  priest, 
afforded  me  all  the  information  in  his  power;  it  was 
under  his  tuition  I  received  the  most  improvement,  and 
as  far  as  the  absurd  mode  of  study  established  in  these 
classes  would  admit,  I  became  a  considerable  proficient 
in  the  Latin.  About  this  time  my  emulation  was  still 
further  excited  by  a  youth,  who  was  my  rival  in  com- 
posing exercises,  and  who  sometimes  succeeded  better 
than  myself.  He  left,  me  still  farther  behind  in  the 
exercise  of  memory,  sometimes  reciting  six  hundred 
verses  of  Virgil's  Georgics,  without  stopping  or  making 
a  single  mistake ;  while  I,  on  the  contrary,  could  never 
repeat  above  four  hundred,  and  those  very  incorrectly ; 
a  circumstance  which  gave  me  great  uneasiness.  As 
far  as  I  can  now  recall  to  mind  my  feelings  on  the 
occasion,  it  appears  to  me  that  even  in  these  childish 
disputes  my  character  was  not  naturally  bad;  for 
though  suffocated  with  rage,  and  though  I  frequently 
burst  into  tears  at  my  defeat,  and  even  violently  re- 
proached my  rival,  yet  either  from  his  being  better 
tempered  than  myself,  or  that  I  became  appeased  with- 
out knowing  why,  we  seldom  fought,  though  nearly  of 
equal  strength  ;  and,  in  fact,  lived  generally  on  terms 
of  friendship  with  each  otker.  I  believe  my  infantile, 
yet  unbounded,  ambition  found  consolation,  and  a 
species  of  recompense  for  the  inferiority  of  my  memory, 
from  the  success  I  enjoyed  in  regard  to  my  exercises, 
for  the  composition  of  which  I  usually  bore  away  the 
prize.  Besides,  this  rival  of  mine  had  something  so 
frank,  noble,  and  prepossessing  about  him,  that  it  was 
utterly  impossible  to  hate  him.  I  evinced  from  my 
earliest  infancy  an  innate  love  for  everything  great  and 
noble,  both  in  the  animate  and  inanimate  works  of 


82  MEMOIRS    OF 

creation ;  whatever  was  stamped  with  this  character 
prejudiced  my  mind  in  the  first  instance,  and  for  a  time 
clouded  my  judgment,  and  prevented  me  from  discover- 
ing the  truth. 

Though  during  the  year  I  attended  these  classes  my 
morals  remained  pure  and  untainted,  yet  almost  with- 
out being  conscious  of  it  myself,  I  was  in  some  measure 
under  the  dominion  of  the  passion  of  love.  It  was  at 
this  period  that  Ariosto  fell  into  my  hands,  though  in 
what  manner  I  cannot  now  recollect :  I  certainly  did 
not  purchase  it,  for  at  this  period  I  did  not  possess  a 
single  farthing ;  neither,  I  am  persuaded,  did  I  purloin 
it,  the  remembrance  of  a  similar  fault  which  I  once 
committed  being  still  fresh  in  my  memory.  I  rather 
think  I  obtained  it  volume  by  volume  from  one  of  my 
schoolfellows,  in  exchange  for  half  a  chicken,  which 
was  usually  given  us  every  Sunday ;  so  that  my  first 
Ariosto  must  have  cost  me  the  sacrifice  of  a  couple  of 
chickens  in  four  weeks.  I  am  not,  however,  certain 
of  this  fact,  at  which  I  am  extremely  sorry,  for  I  should 
wish  to  know  whether  the  first  time  I  drank  at  the 
fountain  of  Hippocrene  it  was  at  the  expense  of  my 
stomach,  and  if  I  had  sacrificed  to  the  Muses  the  most 
delicate  morsel  then  in  my  possession.  It  was  not  the 
only  exchange  which  I  madfr  in  this  way,  for  I  perfectly 
well  recollect  having  never  tasted  these  highly  esteemed 
dominical  chickens  for  six  successive  months,  in  order 
to  barter  them  for  little  histories  which  were  related  to 
us  by  a  certain  parasite,  who  sharpened  his  wits  in 
order  to  fill  his  belly.  He  admitted  none  to  the  num- 
ber of  his  auditors  but  those  who  could  pay  him  in 
eatables :  but  in  whatever  manner  the  acquisition  was 
made,  I  possessed  an  Ariosto,  which  I  read  here  and 
there  without  method,  and  without  comprehending  the 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  83 

half  of  what  I  read.  It  may  hence  be  judged  how 
little  attention  had  been  given  to  our  improvement, 
when  I,  the  best  scholar  of  the  class,  —  I,  who  could 
translate  into  Italian  prose  Virgil's  Georgics,  which  are 
more  difficult  than  even  the  uEneid  itself,  —  was  un- 
able to  comprehend  the  most  easy  of  our  own  poets.  I 
shall  never  forget  when  perusing  the  song  of  Alcini, 
when  I  came  to  those  charming  passages  in  which  her 
beauty  is  so  well  portrayed,  I  exerted  in  vain  every 
effort  to  comprehend  them.  I  found  it  impossible  to 
seize  the  true  meaning  of  the  two  last  verses  of  this 
stanza :  — 

"  Non  cosi  strettamente  cdera  preme." 

I  consulted  with  my  rival,  but  he  was  no  wiser  than 
myself,  and  we  lost  ourselves  in  a  labyrinth  of  conjec- 
tures. These  secret  consultations  were  not,  however, 
long  suffered  to  continue. 

The  assistant,  having  observed  a  small  book  in  our 
possession,  which  we  concealed  on  his  approach,  at 
length  discovered  onr  hidden  treasure,  and  ordered  us 
to  deliver  up  the  other  volumes,  which  he  carried  to 
the  sub-prior;  thus  disconcerting  us  juvenile  poets, 
and  leaving  us  without  a  guide. 


III. 

DURING  the  two  first  years  of  my  abode  at  tho 
academy,  I  learned  scarcely  anything.  My  health 
began  to  decline ;  for  we  were  only  provided  with  a 
spare  diet,  the  quality  of  which  was  not  even  good. 
Little  attention  was,  besides,  paid  to  us  in  other  re- 
spects ;  and  the  hours  allotted  for  rest  were  too  few. 
I  was  the  more  sensibly  hurt  by  this  regimen,  because 
it  was  in  direct  opposition  to  that  I  was  accustomed  to 


84  MEMOIRS   OF 

in  my  mother's  house.  I  did  not  increase  in  stature, 
and  became  so  emaciated  as  to  resemble  a  wax-taper. 
I  was  besides  successively  attacked  by  a  variety  of 
complaints,  the  most  remarkable  of  which  was  an 
eruptive  disease  on  my  head  and  temples  resembling  a 
kind  of  leprosy,  from  which  I  suffered  inconceivable 
distress. 

My  paternal  uncle,  the  Chevalier  Pellegrino  Alficri, 
was  nominated  governor  of  Coni,  where  he  resided 
eight  months  in  the  year;  so  that  I  had  no  relatives 
at  Turin,  except  the  family  of  Tournon,  from  whom 
my  mother  was  descended,  and  Count  Benedict  Alfieri, 
whom  I  was  in  the  habit  of  terming  uncle,  though  he 
was  only  a  cousin  of  my  father's.  He  was  first  archi- 
tect to  the  king,  and  lived  near  the  Theatre  Royal, 
which  he  had  designed  and  executed  with  equal  skill 
and  elegance.  I  sometimes  went  to  dine  at  his  house, 
arid  sometimes  only  to  call,  according  to  the  caprice  of 
Andrea,  who  exerted  over  me  the  most  despotic  sway, 
under  pretence  of  having  received  letters  from  my 
uncle  at  Coni. 

Count  Benedict,  who  was  really  a  worthy  character, 
was  extremely  fond  of  me.  He  was  passionately  at- 
tached to  his  art,  of  an  unambitious  character,  and 
almost  totally  unacquainted  with  everything  uncon- 
nected with  the  fine  arts.  I  could  mention  many 
proofs  of  his  immoderate  love  for  architecture.  This 
passion  led  him  even  to  speak  to  me,  who  was  then  a 
mere  child,  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm,  of  the  divine 
Michael  Angelo  Buonarotti,  whose  name  lie  never 
pronounced  without  bowing  his  head,  or  taking  oiT  his 
hat,  with  a  respect  and  devotion  which  can  never  be 
effaced  from  my  memory.  He  had  spent  the  greatest 
part  of  his  life  at  Rome,  and  was  an  enthusiastic  ad- 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  85 

mirer  of  the  antique.  In  consequence  of  this,  how- 
ever, he  sometimes  departed  from  true  taste  in  the 
construction  of  his  buildings,  "by  endeavoring  to  con- 
form to  the  modern  style;  a  proof  of  which  may  be 
seen  in  the  whimsical  plan  of  the  Church  of  Carig- 
nano,  built  in  the  form  of  a  fen :  but  none  of  these 
defects  are  visible  in  the  construction  of  the  theatre 
already  mentioned,  in  the  king's  riding-school,  in  the 
saloon  of  Stupinigi,  and  in  the  magnificent  facade  of 
the  Temple  of  San  Pietro.  Perhaps  the  flight  of  his 
genius  might,  after  all,  be  retarded  by  the  insignifi- 
cant remuneration  which  the  King  of  Sardinia  had  it 
only  in  his  power  to  bestow  on  him  for  his  services. 
The  noble  plans  which  he  left  at  his  death,  and  which 
are  in  the  possession  of  his  majesty,  afford  a  f>roof  of 
the  truth  of  this  suggestion.  Among  these  are  vari- 
ous projects  for  the  embellishment  of  Turin,  and  par- 
ticularly a  plan  for  rebuilding  the  decayed  wall  sep- 
arating the  Piazza  del  Castello  from  the  Piazza  lieale. 
This  wall,  on  what  account  I  know  not;  is  termed  the 
Pavilion. 

I  experience  much  gratification  in  speaking  of  this 
uncle,  though  it  is  now  only  that  I  am  able  fully  to 
appreciate  his  abilities;  for  when  I  was  at  the  acad- 
emy, however  sincerely  I  was  attached  to  him,  I  fre- 
quently became  weary  of  his  society.  Such  is  the 
whimsicality  of  the  human  mind  and  the  influence  of 
prejudice !  What  wearied  me  most  was  his  wretched 
pronunciation  of  the  Tuscan,  which  he  had  adopted  dur- 
ing his  stay  at  Rome,  and  which  he  never  endeavored  to 
correct,  although  the  Italian  is  wholly  unknown  at 
Turin.  Such,  however,  is  the  force  of  the  sublime 
and  beautiful,  that  those  who  at  the  first  scoffed  at  my 
uncle's  Tuscan,  became  in  a  little  while  so  sensible  of 


86  MEMOIRS    OF 

its  superiority  over  their  own  barbarous  jargon,  that 
on  addressing  him,  they  always  imitated  his  mode  of 
expression.  This  was  more  particularly  the  case  with 
those  nobles  who  were  anxious  that  their  houses 
should  resemble  palaces.  Fruitless  attempt !  in  which 
this  excellent  man,  without  any  profit,  and  merely 
through  friendship,  lost  the  half  of  his  time  in  giving 
pleasure  to  others,  —  a  thing,  as  I  have  often  heard 
him  acknowledge,  not  only  disagreeable  to  himself, 
but  extremely  injurious  to  his  art. 


IV. 

As  none  of  my  relations  took  the  smallest  interest 
in  my  concerns,  I  spent  the  best  years  of  my  life  in 
almost  total  idleness. 

Constantly  sick,  and  having  my  body  covered  with 
sores  or  ulcers,  I  became  the  constant  sport  of  my 
companions,  who  bestowed  on  me  the  nickname  of 
Carcase  ;  while  those  among  them  who  wished  to  ap- 
pear still  more  witty  added  the  epithet  rotten. 

From  the  state  of  my  health  and  other  circumstances, 
I  fell  into  a  profound  melancholy ;  and  my  love  of 
solitude  daily  acquired  new  strength.  Nevertheless,  I 
was  admitted,  during  1760,  into  the  rhetorical  class; 
for  notwithstanding  the  numerous  disadvantages  under 
which  I  labored,  I  had  contrived  to  dedicate  a  few  mo- 
ments to  study  ;  and  very  little  knowledge  was  neces- 
sary in  the  candidate  for  this  and  similar  distinctions. 
The  professor  of  rhetoric  was  less  intelligent  than  my 
last  master ;  for  though  he  explained  to  us  the  ^Eneid, 
and  caused  us  to  compose  Latin  verses,  it  seemed  to 
me  that,  instead  of  acquiring  more  knowledge,  I  be- 
came daily  less  a  proficient  in  the  Latin  tongue. 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  87 

During  the  year  I  attended  rhetoric,  I  happened  to 
recover  my  little  Ariosto,  by  picking  it  up  volume  by 
volume  from  the  sub-prior,  who  had  placed  them  on  his 
shelves,  among  a  great  many  others.  I  seized  the  op- 
portunity of  doing  this,  when  the  youths  were  admitted 
into  his  chamber  to  witness  the  ascent  of  a  balloon 
from  the  windows  which  were  in  the  front  of  the  build- 
ing, and  from  which  we  could  enjoy  a  better  view  of  this 
spectacle  than  from  those  of  the  gallery,  wrhich  were  in 
the  side.  I  took  care,  as  soon  as  I  had  taken  a  single 
volume,  to  press  the  books  together,  so  as  to  fill  up  the 
chasm,  and  prevent  its  loss  being  observed.  It  was  in 
this  manner  that  during  four  successive  days  I  wras 
fortunate  enough  to  recover  my  lost  treasure  ;  but, 
though  enchanted  with  my  success,  I  maintained  a  pro- 
found silence  on  the  subject.  Reflecting  at  present  on 
this  fact,  I  perfectly  recollect  that  from  the  moment  I 
recovered  my  Ariosto,  I  never  again  opened  it.  Several 
circumstances  led  to  this  neglect ;  for  besides  the  bad 
state  of  my  health,  which  was  certainly  the  principal, 
such  a  capital  rhetorician  was  J,  that  the  difficulty  of 
comprehending  this  poet  had  rather  augmented  than 
diminished.  The  constant  interruption  in  the  story  of 
the  piece  had  likewise  a  tendency  to  make  me  relin- 
quish the  study  of  Ariosto,  as  I  knew  not  where  to  find 
the  sequel,  —  a  circumstance  which  even  now  displeases 
me,  as  being  contrary  to  nature,  and  destructive  of  all 
poetic  effect. 

At  the  period  of  which  I  am  speaking,  I  was  unac- 
quainted with  the  name  even  of  Tasso,  whose  works 
would  have  been  infinitely  more  conformable  to  my 
taste.  There  fell  into  my  hands  at  this  time,  however, 
I  recollect  not  in  what  manner,  the  ^Eneid  of  Annibal 
Caro,  which  I  read  more  than  once  with  the  greatest 


88  MEMOIRS   OF 

avidity,  feeling  warmly  interested  for  Turnus  and  Ca- 
milla. I  succeeded  in  concealing  this  work,  in  order 
to  assist  me  in  the  translation  of  some  exercises  given 
us  by  the  master,  —  a  circumstance  which  greatly  re- 
tarded my  advancement  in  a  knowledge  of  the  Latin. 
I  had  then  never  perused  any  of  the  works  of  our  other 
poets,  except  some  operas  of  Metastasio,  such  as  Cato, 
Artaxerxes,  the  Olympiad,  etc.,  and  a  few  others  which 
chance  had  thrown  into  my  hands,  among  the  small 
collection  which  is  performed  during  the  carnival. 
They  amused  me  very  much  till  I  reached  the  chorus, 
which  interrupts  the  development  of  the  passions  at  the 
precise  point  where  I  had  begun  to  identify  myself  with 
the  subject.  This  gave  me  greater  pain  and  disgust 
than  even  the  interruptions  of  Ariosto.  Different  com- 
edies of  Goldoni,  which  were  lent  me  by  the  master, 
also  afforded  me  much  entertainment ;  but  my  dramatic 
genius,  the  germ  of  which  perhaps  existed  in  my  mind, 
was  gradually  extinguished,  through  want  of  proper 
aliment,  or  encouragement  of  any  kind.  In  short,  rny 
ignorance  was  as  great  as  that  of  either  my  preceptors 
or  fellowT-students. 

During  the  long  and  frequent  intervals  in  which  I 
was  obliged  from  ill  health  to  keep  my  chamber,  one 
of  the  students,  who,  though  somewhat  older  and  much 
stronger,  was  yet  more  ignorant  than  myself,  employed 
me  occasionally  in  translating,  extending,  or  composing 
verses  for  him.  He  compelled  me  to  comply  with  his 
demands  by  this  irresistible  argument:  "If  you  are 
willing  to  do  my  work,  I  will  give  you  two  balls  to 
play  with :  here  they  are ;  you  see  they  are  large,  of 
four  colors,  well  made,  of  fine  cloth,  and  extremely 
elastic ;  if  you  are  not  willing  to  do  it,  I  will  give  you 
two  Wows"  and  he  raised  his  athletic  arm,  which  ho 


VITTOKIO   ALFIERI.  89 

held  over  my  head.  I  chose  the  two  halls,  and  pro- 
ceeded with  his  work.  At  first  I  faithfully  executed 
my  task  in  the  hest  manner  I  was  ahle ;  and  the  mas- 
ter evinced  not  a  little  surprise  at  the  unexpected  prog- 
ress of  his  scholar,  who  had  been  hitherto  considered 
as  extremely  dull  and  stupid.  For  my  own  part  I  relig- 
iously kept  the  secret,  more  from  the  natural  taciturnity 
of  my  temper  than  from  any  dread  of  the  threatened 
blows.  Nevertheless,  as  I  soon  became  tired  of  his 
balls,  and  disgusted  with  the  fatigue,  I  began  to  pay 
less  attention  to  the  composition  of  these  exercises,  not- 
withstanding the  praises  bestowed  on  my  talents,  till 
at  last  I  committed  va'rious  solecisms,  such  as  potebam, 
which  at  length  drew  on  him  the  hisses  of  his  comrades 
and  the  rod  of  the  master.  Though  he  found  himself 
thus  ridiculed  in  public,  and  forced  to  resume  his  ass's 
skin,  he  durst  not  openly  vent  his  anger  upon  me  ; 
but  he  never  afterwards  employed  me  to  execute  his 
tasks.  The  disgrace  with  which  he  would  have  been 
loaded,  had  I  discovered  the  secret,  restrained  the  rage 
with  which  he  was  agitated.  I  never  betrayed  him  ; 
but  I  secretly  laughed  when  others  related  that  potebam 
and  similar  solecisms  had  found  their  way  into  his 
compositions,  in  which  no  one  suspected  I  had  the 
smallest  share.  I  might  probably  be  restrained  within 
the  limits  of  discretion,  by  the  recollection  of  the  hand 
which  was  held  over  my  head,  which  I  saw  continually 
before  my  eyes,  ready  to  take  vengeance  on  me  for  so 
many  balls  expended  to  procure  only  ridicule.  Hence 
I  learned  that  mankind  are  only  governed  by  mutual 
terror. 

Having  passed  the  year  which  ought  to  have  been 
dedicated  to  the  study  of  rhetoric,  in  these  puerile  and 
insipid  occupations,  sometimes  sick,  always  indolent,  I 


90  MEMOIRS   OF 

was  called  to  the  customary  examination,  and  judged 
qualified  to  enter  on  the  study  of  philosophy.  We 
went  twice  a  day  to  the  university,  which  was  near  the 
academy,  in  order  to  attend  these  classes.  The  morn- 
ing was  dedicated  to  geometry,  and  the  afternoon  to 
philosophy.  Thus  I  commenced  philosopher,  before 
having  completed  my  thirteenth  year;  and  so  proud 
was  I  of  this  appellation,  that  I  already  in  imagina- 
tion conceived  myself  in  the  highest  class.  I  also 
reaped  much  amusement  from  going  out  of  the  house 
twice  a  day :  besides,  it  often  afforded  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  making  an  escape  to  the  city,  by  leaving  the 
school  under  some  pretext  or  other. 

Though  I  was  the  least  of  all  the  scholars  who  in- 
habited the  second  apartment,  to  which  I  had  descended, 
it  was  this  very  inferiority  in  point  of  age,  stature, 
and  strength,  which  gave  me  greater  courage,  and  in- 
duced me  to  distinguish  myself.  In  short,  I  studied  at 
first  with  so  much  assiduity  as  to  enable  me  to  make  a 
figure  in  the  examinations,  which  took  place  every 
evening  in  the  academy.  I  usually  replied  to  the  ques- 
tions as  well,  or  perhaps  better  than  any  of  the  others ; 
but  this  was  only  a  simple  act  of  memory,  since,  to 
confess  the  truth,  I  did  not  comprehend  this  pedantic 
philosophy,  which  is  not  only  extremely  insipid,  but  from 
being  enveloped  in  Latin,  it  was  necessary  always  to 
dispute  with  the  dictionary  in  our  hands.  As  to  geom- 
etry, a  course  of  which  I  went  through,  consisting  of 
the  first  six  books  of  Euclid,  I  was  never  able  to  un- 
derstand the  fourth  proposition ;  and  I  do  not  even  at 
present  comprehend  it,  having  always  possessed  an 
antigeometrical  head. 

The  peripatetic  philosophy,  which  we  attended  after 
dinner,  usually  acted  as  an  opiate.  During  the  first 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  91 

half-hour  we  wrote  what  the  professor  dictated;  and 
he  afterwards  explained  it  in  Latin  —  God  knows 
how  !  —  in  the  three  quarters  of  an  hour  we  remained. 
All  the  students,  enveloped  in  their  large  cloaks,  slept 
most  profoundly.  Among  these  philosophers,  no  other 
noise  was  heard,  save  the  languid  voice  of  the  professor, 
and  the  high,  low,  and  middle  tones  of  the  snorers, 
which  formed  the  finest  concert  imaginable.  Besides 
the  irresistible  power  of  this  soporific  philosophy,  what 
still  contributed  to  subject  us  of  the  academy  to  the 
influence  of  sleep  was  our  rest  being  interrupted  in  the 
morning,  owing  to  the  early  hour  at  which  we  were 
obliged  to  rise.  As  to  myself,  the  short  period  I  was 
allowed  for  sleep  deranged  the  functions  of  my  stomach. 
This  circumstance  became  so  evident  to  the  superiors, 
that  they  indulged  me  in  sleeping  till  seven  o'clock, 
instead  of  forcing  me  to  rise  at  a  quarter  before  six, 
when  the  students  assembled  to  hear  prayers,  previous 
to  entering  on  their  duties  at  half  past  seven. 


V. 

IN  the  winter  of  the  year  1762,  my  uncle,  the  Gov- 
ernor of  Coni,  returned  for  a  few  months  to  Turin  ; 
and,  having  observed  the  bad  state  of  my  health,  ob- 
tained for  me  some  indulgences  in  the  quantity  and 
quality  of  my  diet.  This,  in  conjunction  with  the  rel- 
axation I  enjoyed  from  attending  the  university,  from 
the  daily  visits  I  made  to  my  uncle  during  the  holidays, 
and  from  the  sweet  periodical  slumber  of  three  quarters 
of  an  hour,  which  I  enjoyed  in  the  philosophical  class, 
all  tended  in  some  measure  to  increase  my  growth, 
and  restore  me  to  my  wonted  health. 

About  this  period  my  uncle,  in  quality  of  our  guardian, 


92  MEMOIRS   OF 

removed  my  sister  Julia  from  the  convent  of  St.  Anas- 
tasia  at  Asti  to  that  of  S.  Croce  at  Turin.  She  had 
remained  six  years  in  the  former,  under  the  care  of  one 
of  our  aunts,  the  widow  of  the  Marquis  of  Trotti,  who 
had  retired  thither  some  time  before.  Julia  had  been 
even  worse  educated  than  myself.  This  proceeded  from 
the  absolute  sway  she  had  acquired  over  our  worthy 
aunt.  This  blind  attachment,  instead  of  being  advan- 
tageous, proved  more  injurious  to  her  every  succeeding 
day.  Julia,  who  was  my  senior  by  two  years,  now 
approached  her  fifteenth  year.  In  Italy  this  is  not  a 
tranquil  age:  the  dawning  of  passion  then  begins  to 
sway  the  tender  and  inexperienced  heart  of  youth. 
An  attachment  she  had  formed  in  the  convent  dis- 
pleased my  uncle,  though  the  object  of  it  was  in  every 
respect  her  equal ;  and  it  was  this  circumstance  which 
determined  him  to  remove  her  to  Turin,  in  order  to 
place  her  under  the  care  of  a  maternal  aunt,  a  sister  of 
the  community  of  S.  Croce.  The  sight  of  this  sister, 
whom  I  had  once  so  tenderly  loved,  and  who  was  now 
much  improved,  afforded  me  the  greatest  pleasure,  and 
restored  me  to  health  and  spirits.  I  was  the  more 
delighted  with  the  possibility  of  sometimes  seeing  her, 
as  I  conceived  that  my  presence  in  a  great  degree  tended 
to  assuage  the  sorrows  of  her  heart.  Though  separated 
from  her  lover,  she  persisted  in  saying  that  she  would 
one  day  espouse  him. 

I  had  obtained  permission  from  Andrea  to  visit  the 
convent  almost  every  Saturday  and  Sunday,  which  were 
our  weekly  holidays.  Often  did  I  spend  the  time  of  my 
visit,  which  lasted  for  an  hour  or  more,  in  weeping  with 
this  dear  girl  at  the  grate.  These  tears  were  to  me  a 
great  relief;  and  I  always  left  the  convent  more  tran- 
quil, though  not  more  gay,  than  when  I  entered  it.  In 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  93 

my  quality  of  philosopher,  I  endeavored  to  inspire  her 
with  fortitude,  and  encouraged  her  to  persist  in  her  res- 
olution, assuring  her  that  she  would  eventually  over- 
come my  uncle's  obstinacy.  But  time,  whose  influence 
is  so  powerful  on  the  firmest  hearts,  was  not  long  in 
exerting  its  sway  over  her  mind.  Absence,  obstacles, 
dissipation,  and,  above  all,  the  superior  opportunities  of 
improvement  which  she  now  enjoyed,  consoled  her,  and 
in  a  few  months  wholly  obliterated  her  love. 

During  the  holidays  of  the  present  year,  I  went  for 
the  first  time  to  the  theatre  of  Carignan,  to  witness  the 
performance  of  the  opera  buffa.  This  indulgence  was 
procured  for  me  by  my  uncle  the  architect,  at  whose 
house  I  slept,  on  returning  from  the  theatre,  as  at  that 
late  hour  it  was  impossible  to  gain  admittance  to  the 
academy  without  infringing  the  rules  by  which  every 
pupil  was  obliged  to  return  at  half  an  hour  after  sunset. 
During  the  carnival  we  were  permitted  once  a  week  to 
go  in  a  body  to  the  king's  theatre  ;  but  my  indulgent 
uncle,  on  the  present  occasion,  solicited  our  superior  to 
suffer  me  to  accompany  him  to  his  country-house,  where 
he  proposed  to  remain  for  a  day  and  a  night.  By  this 
subterfuge  I  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  the  opera 
buffa  of  Mercato  di  Malmantile.  It  was  composed  by 
a  celebrated  master,  and  performed  by  the  first  singers 
in  Italy,  Carratoli  Baglioni  and  her  daughters.  This 
varied  and  enchanting  music  sunk  deep  into  my  soul, 
and  made  the  most  astonishing  impression  on  my  im- 
agination ;  it  agitated  the  inmost  recesses  of  my  heart 
to  such  a  degree  that  for  several  weeks  I  experienced 
the  most  profound  melancholy,  which  was  not,  how- 
ever, wholly  unattended  with  pleasure.  I  became  tired 
and  disgusted  with  my  studies,  while  at  the  same  time 
the  most  wild  and  whimsical  ideas  took  such  possession 


94  MEMOIRS   OF 

of  my  mind,  as  would  have  led  me  to  portray  them  in 
the  most  impassioned  verses,  had  I  not  heen  wholly 
unacquainted  with  the  true  nature  of  my  own  feelings. 
It  was  the  first  time  music  had  produced  such  a  power- 
ful effect  on  my  mind.  I  had  never  experienced  any- 
thing similar,  and  it  long  reihained  engraven  on  my 
memory.  When  I  recollect  the  feelings  excited  "by  the 
representation  of  the  grand  operas,  at  which  I  was 
present  during  several  carnivals,  and  compare  them 
with  those  which  I  now  experience,  on  returning  from 
the  performance  of  a  piece  I  have  not  witnessed  for  some 
time,  I  am  fully  convinced  that  nothing  acts  so  power- 
fully on  my  mind  as  all  species  of  music,  and  particu- 
larly the  sound  of  female  voices,  and  of  contralto. 
Nothing  excites  more  various  or  terrific  sensations  in 
my  mind.  Thus  the  plots  of  the  greatest  numher  of 
my  tragedies  were  either  formed  while  listening  to 
music,  or  a  few  hours  afterwards. 

The  first  year  of  my  attendance  at  the  university 
having  now  elapsed,  my  uncle  of  Coni  was  informed 
by  the  professors,  it  is  evident  with  how  much  justice, 
that  I  had  studied  with  great  assiduity ;  on  which  ac- 
count he  invited  me  to  pass  twelve  days  with  him  in 
that  city.  This  short  journey  between  Turin  and 
Coni,  through  the  fertile  and  smiling  plains  of  Pied- 
mont, was  the  second  I  had  ever  made  in  my  life.  It 
afforded  me  much  amusement,  and  proved  extremely 
beneficial,  to  my  health.  Exercise  and  pure  air  were 
always  reviving  and  salutary  to  me.  The  pleasure  of 
this  excursion  was,  however,  in  some  measure  destroyed, 
by  my  performing  it  with  hack  horses,  which  travelled 
at  a  snail's  pace.  It  was  more  particularly  irksome  to 
rne,  who  had,  four  or  five  years  before,  posted  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning,  between  Asti  and  Turin.  It 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  95 

seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had  become  feeble  as  I  advanced 
in  age;  and  I  almost  conceived  myself  dishonored  by 
the  slow  rate  at  which  we  proceeded.  On  entering 
Carignan,  Kaconis,  Savillan,  and  even  the  smallest 
villages  in  our  way,  I  shrunk  back  in  my  wretched 
vehicle,  closing  my  eyes  in  order  to  avoid  seeing  or 
being  seen  by  the  inhabitants.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if 
every  one  knew  how  I  had  formerly  travelled,  and 
laughed  at  the  present  humiliating  reverse.  Did  these 
feelings  originate  in  a  noble  and  ardent  soul,  or  proceed 
from  a  weak  and  haughty  mind  ?  I  find  myself  incom- 
petent to  reply  to  this  question :  others  will  be  able  to 
judge  from  the  history  of  the  succeeding  years  of  my 
life.  Of  one  thing,  however,  I  am  certain,  —  that,  had 
I  fallen  under  the  care  of  a  man  intimately  acquainted 
with  the  human  heart,  my  character  might  have  been 
moulded  into  any  form  he  pleased,  by  the  judicious 
application  of  the  love  of  praise  and  of  glory,  which  from 
my  earliest  infancy  had  such  a  powerful  influence  over 
my  mind. 

Duiing  my  short  stay  at  Coni  I  composed  my  first  son- 
net, which  I  durst  not,  however,  acknowledge,  as  it  con- 
sisted only  of  a  few  indifferent  verses,  the  most  of  which 
were  borrowed  from  Metastasio  and  Ariosto,  the  only 
poets  I  had  then  read.  I  believe  they  were  also  defective 
in  rhyme  and  measure ;  for  though  I  had  composed  hex- 
ameter and  pentameter  Latin  verses,  I  had  never  been 
taught  any  rules  for  the  composition  of  Italian  poetry. 
I  have  racked  my  brain  to  remember  two  or  three  of 
these  stanzas,  but  in  vain.  I  only  recollect  that  they 
were  in  praise  of  a  lady  of  whom  my  uncle  was 
enamored,  and  who  was,  besides,  rather  a  favorite 
with  myself.  This  sonnet  was  undoubtedly  execrable  : 
nevertheless  it  was  much  admired,  not  only  by  the 


96  MEMOIRS   OF 

lady  herself,  but  by  others  who  were  equally  incompe- 
tent to  decide  on  its  merits ;  yet,  in  consequence  of 
such  praises,  I  conceived  myself  already  a  poet.  My 
uncle,  however,  like  a  true  soldier,  was  rigid  in  his 
manners,  and,  though  well  versed  in  history  and  poli- 
tics, was  yet  unacquainted  with  poetry,  for  which  he 
had  no  relish.  Hence  he  took  every  opportunity  to 
repress  the  efforts  of  my  infant  muse,  which  so  chilled 
my  poetic  enthusiasm  that  I  relinquished  every  idea  of 
writing  verses  till  the  age  of  twenty-five.  How  many 
sonnets,  good  or  bad,  did  not  my  uncle  stifle  along 
with  this  first  production  of  my  pen  ! 

In  the  following  year  the  study  of  physics  and 
ethics  succeeded  to  that  of  our  tiresome  philosophy  : 
we  attended  the  former  in  the  morning,  and  the  latter 
in  the  afternoon.  The  study  of  physics  was  not 
wholly  destitute  of  attractions  to  me,  but  the  constant 
use  of  the  Latin  language,  and  my  total  ignorance  of 
geometry,  a  course  of  which  I  had  gone  through, 
proved  invincible  obstacles  to  my  advancement.  A 
love  of  truth  obliges  me  to  confess,  though  to  my 
eternal  disgrace,  that  after  attending  a  course  of 
lectures  on  physics  by  the  celebrated  Beccaria,  I  did 
not  remember  a  single  definition,  neither  did  I  reap 
greater  benefit  from  his  learned  course  of  electricity, 
which  he  has  enriched  with  so  many  important  dis- 
coveries. It  happened  now  as  it  did  when  I  attended 
the  geometrical  class,  —  by  a  simple  effort  of  memory 
I  always  succeeded  in  answering  the  questions  which 
were  put  to  me,  and  generally  received  more  praise 
than  blame  from  the  masters. 

My  uncle,  to  whom  I  had  been  represented  as  ex- 
tremely industrious,  proposed  in  the  winter  of  1763  to 
recompense  me  by  a  small  present,  a  thing  which  he 


YITTORIO   ALFIERI.  97 

had  never  "before  even  hinted  at.  My  domestic  Andrea 
announced  this  to  me  some  months  before  with  an  air 
of  importance,  and  this  undefined  hope,  which  my 
imagination  embellished,  gave  a  fresh  stimulus  to  my 
mind,  and  rendered  me  more  eager,  parrot-like,  to  ac- 
quire my  lesson  by  rote. 

At  length  my  uncle's  valet  one  day  showed  me  this 
famous  present,  which  consisted  of  a  silver  sword  of 
curious  workmanship.  Fond  of  this  bawble,  and  con- 
ceiving it  only  as  the  just  reward  of  my  industry,  I 
daily  expected,  but  in  vain,  that  it  would  be  given  to  me. 
The  propriety  of  requesting  it  from  my  uncle  was  sug- 
gested to  me,  but  the  same  unbending  disposition,  which 
a  few  years  before  prevented  me  from  making  known  my 
wishes  to  my  maternal  aunt,  though  urged  by  her  to 
do  so,  kept  me  silent  in  the  present  instance ;  and  as 
there  were  no  other  means  to  obtain  this  sword,  it 
never  came  into  my  possession. 


VI. 

IN  this  manner  passed  the  year  of  my  attendance  on 
the  class  of  physics.  In  the  summer  my  uncle  was 
appointed  Viceroy  of  Sardinia,  and  when  about  to  set 
out  in  the  month  of  September,  he  recommended  me  to 
the  care  of  the  few  relatives  I  had  still  left  at  Turin. 
He  renounced  the  management  of  my  pecuniary  con- 
cerns, and  nominated  one  of  his  friends  joint  guardian 
with  himself.  From  this  period  I  was  less  restricted 
in  my  expenses.  My  new  guardian  allowed  me  a 
monthly  sum,  — an  arrangement  to  which  my  uncle  had 
always  objected,  —  and  which  even  now  appears  to  me 
to  have  been  extremely  unreasonable.  Perhaps  he  was 
influenced  in  this  respect  by  Andrea,  who  must  have 


98  MEMOIRS    OF 

been  a  great  gainer  by  disbursing  every  shilling  which 
was  expended;  it,  besides,  kept  me  in  a  state  of  greater 
dependence  on  him. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  year  1762  I  commenced  the 
study  of  civil  and  canonical  law;  a  course  which,  at 
the  termination  of  four  years,  conducts  the  student  to 
the  highest  academical  honor,  —  a  doctor's  degree. 

After  a  few  weeks'  attendance  on  these  classes,  I  ex- 
perienced a  return  of  the  eruptive  malady  under  which 
I  suffered  so  much  two  years  before,  and  which  was 
now  more  virulent  than  ever.  My  poor  head  could  not 
retain  the  definitions,  the  digests,  and  all  the  apparatus 
of  these  vtwo  species  of  law.  I  cannot  better  describe 
the  state  of  my  head  than  by  comparing  it  to  a  soil, 
which,  burnt  up  by  the  scorching  heat  of  the  sun,  cracks 
in  every  direction,  forming  fissures  that  remain  open 
till  returning  showers  again  close  them. 

Of  so  inveterate  a  nature  were  these  sores,  that  I 
could  not,  as  formerly,  avoid  yielding  up  my  hair  a 
sacrifice  to  the  scissors.  Of  all  the  misfortunes  I  ever 
experienced,  this  to  me  proved  the  most  vexatious,  not 
only  from  the  necessity  of  having  my  head  shaved,  but 
of  wearing  a  peruke,  on  which  account  I  became  the 
sport  and  derision  of  my  comrades.  I  attempted  at 
first  to  save  my  peruke  from  their  attacks,  but  finding 
this  was  impossible,  and  that  I  even  risked  my  own 
safety,  I  suddenly  changed  my  tactics,  and  seizing  the 
unlucky  peruke  before  any  one  had  affronted  me,  I  flung 
it  up  in  the  air,  and  made  it  the  butt  of  my  own  sport. 

In  fact,  a  few  days  after,  the  public  clamor  having 
subsided,  I  restored  the  peruke  to  its  proper  station, 
and  was  less  persecuted,  I  may  almost  say  more 
respected,  than  the  two  or  three  others  who  were  in  the 
same  chamber.  Hence  I  learned  that  it  is  sometimes 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  99 

necessary  to  relinquish  voluntarily  what   we   cannot 
prevent  others  taking  away  from  us. 

In  the  course  of  this  year  I  took  lessons  in  geog- 
raphy, and  on  the  harpsichord.  Frequently  amusing 
myself  with  globes  and  charts,  I  made  some  progress 
in  the  former  of  these  studies,  to  which  I  joined  that  of 
history,  and  especially  ancient  history.  My  geographical 
master  being  a  native  of  the  Valley  of  Aosta,  occa- 
sionally lent  me  some  French  works,  which  I  began  to 
comprehend  a  little,  and  among  others  Gil  Bias,  with 
which  I  was  perfectly  enchanted.  This  was  the  first 
book  I  had  ever  read  from  beginning  to  end,  except 
the  ./Eneid  of  Caro,  and  it  afforded  me  much  greater 
entertainment.  About  this  period  I  likewise  perused 
several  romances,  such  as  Cassandra,  Almachilda,  etc., 
and  the  interest  writh  which  they  inspired  me  was  in 
proportion  to  the  horrific  and  melancholy  nature  of  the 
story.  Among  other  productions  of  this  kind,  I  read 
the  Memoirs  of  a  Man  of  Quality  six  times  at  least. 

Though  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  music,  and 
though  I  even  evinced  some  taste  for  this  art,  I  made 
no  progress  upon  the  harpsichord,  except  being  able  to 
pass  my  fingers  more  lightly  over  the  keys.  I  could 
never  acquire  a  knowledge  of  the  written  characters  ; 
ear  and  memory  were  everything  with  me.  One  rea- 
son, I  believe,  why  I  made  such  slow  progress  in  the 
acquirement  of  this  science,  was  taking  these  lessons 
immediately  after  dinner.  I  have  observed,  through- 
out the  whole  course  of  my  life,  that  this  is  a  most 
unfavorable  period  for  the  exertion  of  intellect,  and 
even  for  the  simple  application  of  the  eyes  on  paper, 
or  any  other  object  whatever.  The  notes  trembled 
before  my  eyes,  and  after  an  hour's  lesson  I  usually 
quitted  the  instrument  without  being  able  to  distin- 


100  MEMOIRS   OF 

guish  objects:  I  continued  ill  and  stupid  during  the 
remainder  of  the  day. 

I  made  as  little  progress  in  the  arts  of  fencing  and 
dancing.  From  the  natural  weakness  of  my  frame,  I 
was  never  able  to  preserve  my  guard,  or  remain  in  the 
other  attitudes  of  this  art.  Besides  my  fencing-master 
attended  me  after  dinner,  and  I  frequently  left  the 
harpsichord  to  take  up  the  sword. 

To  the  natural  hatred  I  had  to  dancing  was  joined 
an  invincible  antipathy  towards  my  master, —  a  French- 
man newly  arrived  from  Paris.    He  possessed  a  certain 
air  of  polite  assurance,  which,  joined  to  his  ridiculous 
motions 'and  absurd  discourse,   greatly  increased  the 
innate  aversion  I  felt  towards  this  frivolous  art.     So 
unconquerable  was  this  aversion,  that   after  leaving 
school  I  could  never  be  prevailed  on  to  join  in  any 
dance  whatever.     The  very  name  of  this  amusement 
makes  me  shudder  and  laugh  at  the  same  time, —  a 
circumstance  which  is  by  no  means  unusual  with  me. 
I  attribute,  in  a  great  measure,  to  this  dancing-master 
the  unfavorable  and  perhaps  erroneous  opinion  I  have 
formed  of  the  French  people,   who,  nevertheless,  it 
must  be  confessed,  possess  many  agreeable  and  esti- 
mable qualities  :  but  it  is  difficult  to  weaken  or  efface 
impressions  received  in  early  youth.     Reason  lessens 
their  influence  as  we  advance  in  life ;  yet  it  is  neces- 
sary to  watch  over  ourselves,  in  order  to  judge  without 
passion,  and  we  are  frequently  so  unfortunate  as  not  to 
succeed.     Two  other  causes  also  contributed  to  render 
me  from  my  infancy  disgusted  with  the  French  char- 
acter.    The  first  was  the  impression  made  on  my  mind 
by  the   sight  of  those  ladies  who  accompanied   the 
Duchess  of  Parma  in  her  journey  to  Asti,  and  who 
were  all  bedaubed  with  rouge,  the  use  of  which  was 


VITTOEIO   ALFIERI.  101 

then  exclusively  confined  to  the  French.  I  have  fre- 
quently mentioned  this  circumstance  several  years 
afterwards,  not  being  able  to  account  for  such  an  ab- 
surd and  ridiculous  practice,  which  is  wholly  at  vari- 
ance with  nature  ;  for  when  either  sick,  intoxicated,  or 
from  any  other  cause,  human  beings  besmear  them- 
selves with  this  detestable  rouge,  they  carefully  conceal 
it,  well  knowing  that  when  discovered  it  only  excites 
the  laughter  or  pity  of  the  beholders.  These  painted 
French  figures  left  a  deep  and  lasting  impression  on 
my  mind,  and  inspired  me  with  a  certain  feeling  of  dis- 
gust towards  the  females  of  this  nation. 

From  my  geographical  studies  resulted  another  cause 
of  antipathy  to  that  nation.  Having  seen  on  the  chart 
the  great  difference  in  extent  and  population  between 
England  or  Prussia  and  France,  and  hearing  every 
time  news  arrived  from  the  armies  that  the  French 
had  been  beaten  by  sea  and  land  j  recalling  to  mind 
the  first  ideas  of  my  infancy,  during  which  I  was  told 
that  the  French  had  frequently  been  in  possession  of 
Asti,  and  that  during  the  last  time  they  had  suffered 
themselves  to  be  taken  prisoners  to  the  number  of  six 
or  seven  thousand,  without  resistance,  after  conducting 
themselves  while  they  remained  in  possession  of  the 
place  with  the  greatest  insolence  and  tyranny ;  all 
these  different  circumstances,  being  associated  with  the 
idea  of  the  ridiculous  dancing-master,  tended  more  and 
more  to  rivet  in  my  mind  an  aversion  to  the  French 
nation.  If  mankind  were  like  me  inclined  to  search  in 
themselves  at  an  advanced  period  of  life  for  the  origin 
of  their  hatred  or  affection,  either  towards  individuals 
or  nations,  they  would  perhaps  find  the  first  and  in- 
sensible germs  of  such  sentiments  neither  less  absurd 
nor  very  different  from  those  with  which  I  was  actuated. 
0,  how  insignificant  a  being  is  man  ! 


102  MEMOIRS   OF 


VII. 

MY  uncle  only  survived  his  appointment  to  the 
Viceroyalty  of  Sardinia  six  months ;  he  had  scarcely 
attained  the  sixtieth  year  of  his  age,  but  his  health 
had  long  been  in  a  declining  state.  Before  his  depar- 
ture he  frequently  said  to  me  that  he  would  never 
return.  I  had  never  felt  much  affection  towards  him, 
which  was  not  surprising,  as  1  seldom  saw  him,  and  he 
had  besides  always  treated  me  with  a  certain  degree  of 
severity,  without,  however,  being  tyrannical  or  unjust. 
Estimable  by  his  probity  and  his  courage,  he  had 
served  his  country  with  distinction  :  bold  and  energetic 
in  his  character,  he  possessed  all  the  qualities  of  an 
excellent  commander.  He  enjoyed  the  reputation  of 
great  intelligence ;  but  this  knowledge  was  buried  under 
a  mass  of  ill-arranged  erudition,  and  accompanied  with 
a  perpetual  anxiety  concerning  everything  relating  to 
ancient  and  modern  history.  I  experienced  not,  there- 
fore, much  affliction  at  his  death,  which  I  did  not  wit- 
ness, and  which  all  his  friends  had  already  predicted. 
By  this  event  I  was  permitted  to  enjoy  the  large  prop- 
erty of  my  father,  augmented  with  the  extensive  fortune 
left  me  by  my  uncle. 

According  to  the  Piedmontese  laws,  the  period  of  the 
guardianship  of  minors  expires  on  their  attaining  the 
age  of  fourteen ;  another  guardian  is,  however,  ap- 
pointed, who,  without  having  any  control  over  their 
annual  income,  can  legally  prevent  the  alienation  of 
their  property.  Having  thus  become  master  of  my  for- 
tune at  the  age  of  fourteen,  1  acquired  additional  im- 
portance in  my  own  eyes,  and  immediately  began  to 
build  castles  in  the  air. 


VITTOFvIO   ALFIEKI.  103 

At  this  period  my  domestic-governor  Andrea  was 
very  properly  dismissed  by  order  of  my  new  guardian, 
as  he  had  delivered  himself  up,  without  restraint,  to 
idleness,  intoxication,  and  every  species  of  libertinism  ; 
he  behaved  to  me  with  the  greatest  insolence,  mal- 
treating me  without  ceasing  :  when  intoxicated,  which 
frequently  happened  four  or  five  times  a  week,  he  even 
went  so  for  as  to  beat  me. 

During  my  frequent  illnesses  it  was  no  unusual 
thing  with  him  to  leave  me  shut  up  in  my  chamber 
from  dinner  till  the  hour  of  supper.  This  practice 
tended,  more  than  anything  else,  to  retard  the  iv- 
establishment  of  my  health,  and  to  increase  that  strong 
constitutional  melancholy  to  which  I  was  subject  from, 
my  birth.  Yet  who  would  believe  that  I  mourned  dur- 
ing several  weeks  for  the  loss  of  this  same  tyrant1?  As 
he  was  not  permitted  to  enter  the  academy,  I  went  for 
several  months  to  visit  him  every  Monday  and  Wednes- 
day. I  caused  my  new  valet,  who  was  a  little  awk- 
ward, but  of  a  gay  and  gentle  character,  to  conduct  me 
to  his  house.  I  gave  to  Andrea  during  these  visits  all 
the  money  I  possessed,  which  was  indeed  not  much. 
Ho  at  length  found  another  master,  and  time,  as  much 
as  the  change  of  situation,  in  a  short  time  banished 
him  from,  my  memory.  If  I  was  inclined  to  exhibit 
myself  in  a  flattering  point  of  view,  I  might  represent 
the  unreasonable  attachment  which  I  felt  towards  this 
unworthy  domestic,  as  proceeding  from  a  certain  gen- 
erosity of  character ;  but  nothing  could  be  forth er  from 
the  truth.  This,  however,  did  not  prevent  the  reading 
of  Plutarch  from  exciting  in  my  mind  a  love  of  glory 
and  virtue,  nor  my  feeling  and  appreciating  the  pleas- 
ure and  satisfaction  of  rendering  good  for  evil,  as  often 
as  I  practised  it.  My  attachment  to  Andrea  who  had 


104  MEMOIRS   OF 

caused  me  so  many  uneasy  hours  proceeded  partly  from 
the  habit  of  associating  with  him  for  seven  years,  and 
partly  from  a  predilection  which  I  felt  for  some  of  his 
good  qualities.  He  always  readily  comprehended  what 
was  said  to  him ,  and  executed  any  order  with  the  great- 
est accuracy  and  despatch.  The  tales  with  which  he 
amused  me  were  full  of  wit  and  interest,  and  I  generally 
accommodated  matters  with  him  as  soon  as  the  anger 
which  his  insolence  and  had  conduct  excited  had  passed 
over.  I  cannot,  at  present,  comprehend  how  I  became 
accustomed  to  the  yoke  of  this  man;  I,  who  always 
detested  open  force  or  any  kind  of  ill-treatment.  This 
reflection  has  since  frequently  led  me  to  pity  those  prin- 
ces, who,  without  being  perfectly  imbecile,  suffer  them- 
selves to  be  governed  by  people  who  have  acquired 
an  ascendency  over  them  during  the  period  of  adoles- 
cence, —  fatal  age !  during  which  the  impressions  we 
receive  are  indelible. 

The  first  advantage  which  I  reaped  from  the  death 
of  my  uncle  was  being  able  to  attend  the  riding- 
school,  which  I  had  hitherto  been  prohibited  doing. 
The  Prior  of  the  academy,  observing  my  great  anxiety 
to  be  instructed  in  the  art  of  riding,  endeavored  to  turn 
it  to  my  advantage,  by  making  it  the  reward  of  my 
studies ;  he  promised  to  indulge  me  in  this  respect  if  I 
would  take  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts  at  the  uni- 
versity. To  obtain  this  it  was  only  necessary  to  undergo 
a  public  examination  in  logic,  physics,  and  geometry, 
which  was  always  conducted  with  great  negligence.  I 
instantly  acceded  to  this  proposal,  and,  having  engaged 
a  master  who  could  at  least  assist  me  in  recollecting 
the  definitions  in  these  sciences,  which  I  had  studied  so 
superficially,  I  succeeded  in  fifteen  or  twenty  days  in 
making  myself  master  of  a  dozen  Latin  sentences, 


VITTOPJO   ALFIERI.  105 

which  were  all  that  was  necessary  in  order  to  reply  to 
the  few  questions  which  the  examinators  would  put 
to  me.  Thus  then  I  became,  I  know  not  how,  in  less 
than  a  month  Master  of  Arts ;  and  was  immediately 
permitted  to  take  my  first  lesson  in  riding,  —  an  art  in 
which  I  became  extremely  expert  in  a  few  years.  I 
was  then  below  the  middle  size,  and  very  meagre ;  my 
knees,  which  are  the  pivots  of  equitation,  were  ex- 
tremely weak  ;  but  my  passion  for  this  exercise,  and 
the  determination  of  my  will,  supplied  the  place  of 
strength.  In  a  short  time  my  progress  was  extremely 
rapid,  particularly  in  the  management  of  the  horse. 
To  this  agreeable  and  noble  exercise  I  owed  the  re- 
turn of  my  health,  the  increase  of  my  growth,  and  a 
certain  vigor  of  constitution,  which  was  soon  visible  to 
every  eye. 

I  thus  entered  on  a  new  mode  of  life.  Being  master 
of  my  fortune  by  the  death  of  my  uncle,  dignified  with 
the  title  of  Master  of  Arts,  delivered  from  the  tyranny 
of  Andrea,  and  mounted  upon  a  noble  courser,  it  is 
scarcely  possible  to  conceive  how  much  more  command- 
ing my  countenance  daily  became.  I  frankly  informed 
the  prior  and  my  new  guardian  that  I  was  disgusted 
with  the  study  of  the  law,  that  my  time  was  wholly 
lost,  and  that,  in  short,  I  was  determined  to  relinquish 
it.  After  an  interview  with  each  other,  these  gentle- 
men determined  to  remove  me  to  the  first  apartment, 
where  the  pupils  were  subject  to  no  constraint,  as  I 
have  before  mentioned. 

On  the  8th  of  May,  1763,  I  entered  my  new  abode, 
where  I  remained  nearly  alone  during  the  whole  of  the 
summer, .  but  in  autumn  a  vast  number  of  foreigners 
arrived  from  every  country  ;  the  majority  of  them  were, 
however,  British.  An  abundant  table,  continual  amuse- 


106  MEMOIRS   OF 

merit,  plenty  of  sleep,  daily  exercise  on  horseback,  and 
particularly  the  power  of  indulging  all  my  whims,  had, 
with  renovated  health,  rendered  me  daring  and  viva- 
cious. My  hair  was  grown,  and,  having  thrown  aside 
my  peruke,  I  dressed  in  the  highest  style  of  fashion. 
My  clothes  were  extremely  expensive,  in  order  to  com- 
pensate me  for  the  black  which  the  regulations  of  the 
academy  had  compelled  me  to  wear  during  the  five 
years  I  inhabited  the  third  and  second  apartments.  My 
guardian  censured  my  expensive  profusion  in  dress  ;  but 
my  tailor,  who  knew  that  I  was  able  to  pay,  gave  me 
credit,  and  I  believe  enriched  himself  at  my  expense. 
No  sooner  had  I  become  my  own  master,  and  the  pos- 
sessor of  an  ample  fortune,  than  I  was  surrounded  by 
friends,  companions,  parasites,  and,  in  short,  by  every- 
thing that  follows  in  the  train  of  prosperity  and  departs 
on  the  approach  of  adversity.  In  the  midst  of  this 
career,  equally  novel  and  impetuous,  I  neither  became 
so  unreasonable  nor  insignificant  as  might  have  been 
supposed.  I  often  thought  of  returning  to  study :  I 
experienced  remorse  and  a  kind  of  shame  for  my  igno- 
rance, which  I  could  neither  conceal  from  myself  nor 
wished  to  conceal  from  others;  tmt  having  no  solid 
basis  of  instruction,  nor  any  one  to  direct  my  studies, 
and  being  besides  almost  ignorant  of  any  language,  I 
neither  knew  how  to  turn  nor  where  to  direct  my 
application. 

The  reading  of  French  romances,  the  constant  society 
of  foreigners,  the  want  of  opportunity  of  speaking  or 
hearing  the  Italian,  had  insensibly  made  me  lose  the 
little  Tuscan  I  had  acquired  during  my  attendance  on 
the  Latin  and  rhetorical  classes.  The  French  was  so 
familiar  to  me  that  during  a  fit  of  study,  which  lasted 
two  or  three  months  of  the  first  year  I  inhabited  this 


I 

VITTOIIIO   ALFIERI.  107 

apartment,  I  commenced  the  perusal  of  the  thirty- six 
volumes  of  PHistoire  Ecclesiastique  de  Fleuri,  which  I 
read  nearly  through  with  the  greatest  avidity  ;  I  even 
made  extracts  from  it  in  French,  and  proceeded  so  far 
as  the  eighteenth  book.  However  foolish,  ridiculous, 
and  unprofitable  this  study  may  appear,  I  nevertheless 
applied  myself  to  it  with  the  greatest  perseverance, 
and  even  some  degree  of  pleasure.  From  the  perusal 
of  this  work  I  formed  the  most  unfavorable  opinion 
of  priests  and  their  concerns ;  but  on  throwing  it  aside 
I  thought  no  more  ou  the  subject.  I  laughed  very 
heartily  on  reperusing  these  extracts  twenty  years 
afterwards.  On  relinquishing  the  reading  of  ecclesias- 
tical history,  I  once  more  returned  to  that  of  romances ; 
many  of  which,  and  among  others  the  Arabian  Night's 
Tales,  I  perused  several  times  over. 

Having  contracted  a  friendship  with  many  youths 
nearly  of  my  own  age,  who  resided  in  the  city  with 
their  governors,  we  frequently  hired  wretched  hacks, 
and  made  excursions  into  the  country,  during  which  we 
were  oftener  than  once  in  danger  of  breaking  our  necks. 
Not  (infrequently  did  we  gallop  down  from  the  Her- 
mitage des  Camaldules  to  Turin,  the  road  between 
which  is  paved  and  full  of  flint  stones,  — an  enterprise 
which  no  consideration  would  afterwards  have  tempted 
me  to  undertake,  even  wTith  the  best  horses.  We  have 
frequently  pursued,  at  full  gallop,  my  valet  on  his 
llosinante,  instead  of  a  stag,  in  the  wood  between  the 
Po  and  the  Doria.  Often,  having  taken  the  bridle  from 
his  horse,  did  we  follow  him  at  full  speed,  hallooing, 
and  whipping  up  our  horses,  imitating  the  sounds  of 
the  French  horn,  leaping  over  ditches,  and  fording  the 
Doria  at  its  confluence  with  the  Po  ;  in  short,  we  com- 
mitted so  many  foolish  pranks  that  at  length  no  one 


108  MEMOIRS   OF 

would  lend  us  his  horses  at  any  price.  By  means  of 
such  exercises,  however,  "both  my  corporeal  and  mental 
powers  were  strengthened  and  invigorated,  and  my 
mind  prepared  to  merit  and  assert  the  physical  and 
moral  liberty  I  had  acquired. 

VIII. 

AT  this  period  no  one  took  any  concern  in  my  affairs 
except  my  new  valet,  whom  my  guardian  had  placed 
over  me,  and  who  had  orders  to  accompany  me  wherever 
I  went.  But  to  tell  the  truth,  as  he  was  ignorant  and 
somewhat  avaricious,  I  found  little  Difficulty  in  bending 
him  to  my  purpose,  and  insuring  his  silence  by  means 
of  gold.  Naturally  of  a  discontented  and  restless  dis- 
position, I  very  soon  became  impatient  at  being  always 
followed  by  this  domestic.  This  restraint  appeared  to 
me  much  more  painful  as  I  was  the  only  one  in  the 
first  apartment  subject  to  anything  of  a  similar  kind  ; 
they  all  went  out  and  returned  as  often  and  at  whatever 
hour  they  pleased.  The  reason  alleged  fur  it  was,  my 
being  much  younger  than  any  of  the  others,  for  I  had 
not  yet  attained  my  fifteenth  year.  I  obstiuately  per- 
sisted, however,  in  going  out  like  the  rest,  without 
informing  my  valet  or  any  other  person.  At  first  I  was 
reprimanded  by  the  governor ;  but  this  did  not  prevent 
me  from  continuing  the  same  practice.  The  second 
time  I  was  locked  in  my  chamber  ;  but  no  sooner  were 
the  doors  opened,  than  I  sallied  forth  as  before.  This 
led  to  a  more  strict  confinement,  which  was  again  dis- 
regarded :  and  this  fluctuation  between  liberty  and 
restraint  lasted  for  more  than  a  month  ;  the  punishment 
was  daily  augmented,  but  always  without  producing 
the  desired  effect.  I  at  last  declared  that  it  might  as 


VITTORIO  ALFIERI.  109 

well  be  continued  without  interruption,  for  that  I  was 
determined  to  use  my  liberty  as  formerly,  and  that  I 
insisted  on  being  treated  in  every  case  like  the  rest  of 
my  companions ;  that  this  distinction  was  odious  and 
unjust,  and  rendered  me  the  sport  of  my  comrades  ;  that 
if  the  governor  thought  I  was  neither  sufficiently  old 
nor  reasonable  to  associate  with  those  of  the  first  apart- 
ment, he  could  remand  me  back  to  the  second.  This 
arrogant  discourse  was  punished  by  a  confinement 
which  lasted  above  three  months,  and  particularly  dur- 
ing the  carnival  of  1764.  I  obstinately  refused  to  solicit 
my  liberty;  and  thus  enraged,  and  persevering,  I  be- 
lieve I  would  sooner  have  perished  than  made  any 
concessions. 

I  slept  during  the  greatest  part  of  the  day,  and  in  the 
evening  when  I  rose  out  of  bed,  I  caused  to  be  placed 
by  the  fire  a  mattress,  on  which  I  threw  myself.  I 
would  not  partake  of  the  usual  dinner  of  the  academy, 
which  was  sent  to  my  chamber,  but  cooked  on  my  own 
fire  polenta,  and  similar  dishes.  I  totally  neglected  my 
external  appearance,  and  acquired  the  air  of  a  complete 
savage. 

Although  I  was  prohibited  from  leaving  my  chamber, 
my  friends  were  permitted  to  see  me,  and  among  others 
I  was  visited  by  the  trusty  companions  of  my  heroic 
sports }  I  was,  however,  sullen  and  silent,  like  a  body 
without  a  soul,  squatted  on  my  mattress.  I  did  not 
even  reply  to  any  questions  which  were  put  to  me,  but 
remained  whole  hours  with  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor, 
and  filled  with  tears,  not  one  of  which,  however,  I 
suffered  to  escape. 


110  MEMOIRS   OF 


IX. 

THE  nuptials  of  my  sister  with  Count  Hyacinth 
Cumiana  proved  a  new  era  in  my  existence.  The  mar- 
riage was  solemnized  on  the  1st  of  May,  1764,  — a  day 
which  will  forever  remain  engraven  on  my  memory.  I 
accompanied  the  bridal  party  to  the  count's  beautiful 
country-seat,  Cumiana,  which  was  only  about  ten  miles 
distant  from  Turin.  I  spent  a  month  with  them,  dur- 
ing which  the  time  glided  rapidly  away,  as  may  be 
readily  conceived  by  any  one  who  recalls  to  mind  that 
I  had  lately  emerged  from  the  prison  in  which  I  had 
been  confined  during  the  winter.  I  had  obtained  my 
liberty  at  the  solicitation  of  my  brother-in-law,  and  the 
restoration  to  the  rights  of  those  who  occupied  the  first 
apartment  in  the  academy.  Thus,  after  several  months' 
rigorous  confinement,  I  was  raised  to  a  level  with  my 
fellow-students  ;  at  the  same  time  I  was  less  controlled 
in  my  expenditure,  —  a  right  which  could  be  no  longer 
legally  withheld  from  me.  Immediately  on  my  eman- 
cipation I  purchased  for  myself  a  horse,  which  I  took 
to  Cumiana.  He  was  a  very  beautiful  animal,  and 
extremely  handsome  in  his  whole  form  ;  but  especially 
in  his  head,  neck,  and  chest :  I  was  extremely  fond  of 
this  animal  ;  even  now  I  never  think  of  him  without 
experiencing  the  most  lively  emotions.  My  attachment 
was  so  excessive  that  when  he  labored  under  the  slight- 
est malady,  which  not  unfrequently  happened,  because 
though  fiery  he  was  yet  of  a  delicate  constitution,  sleep 
and  appetite  both  forsook  me.  My  fondness,  however, 
when  mounted  on  him,  did  not  prevent  me  from  teasing 
and  tormenting  him,  according  as  the  whim  and  caprice 
of  the  moment  exerted  their  influence  on  my  mind. 


VITTOHIO   ALFIERI.  Ill 

The  delicacy  of  his  frame  furnished  me  with  a  pretext 
for  keeping  another  saddle-horse.  Not  contented  with 
these,  I  soon  set  up  a  carriage  ;  this  required  two  other 
horses,  which,  with  one  for  a  cabriolet  and  two  for  the 
saddle,  made  up  a  stud  of  seven,  all  of  which  I  had 
procured  in  the  short  space  of  one  year. 

My  parsimonious  guardian  exclaimed  at  my  prodi- 
gality, but  it  was  to  no  purpose.  I  adopted  other 
means  of  expenditure,  and  particularly  that  of  fine 
clothes.  There  were  some  of  my  English  comrades 
who  expended  their  money  very  profusely  :  not  wish- 
ing to  be  surpassed  in  this  respect,  I  even  exceeded 
them  in  extravagance.  But  on  the  other  hand,  I 
lived  with  many  young  men  who  belonged  not  to  the 
academy  in  terms  of  greater  intimacy  than  with  the 
academists  themselves.  These,  being  dependent  on 
their  parents,  could  not  emulate  my  profusion ;  for 
though  many  of  them  were  descended  from  the  first 
families  in  Turin,  they  were  yet  restricted  in  their 
pocket  expenses.  Truth,  however,  requires  me  to 
avow  that,  with  regard  to  these  young  men,  I  then 
practised  a  virtue  which  in  the  sequel  I  found,  ex- 
tremely useful,  and  from  which  I  have  never  deviated. 
It  consisted  in  never  wishing  to  surpass  any  of  my  ac- 
quaintances who  regarded  themselves  as  my  inferiors, 
whether  in  point  of  physical  strength,  wit,  generosity, 
or  dignity  of  character.  In  fact,  as  often  as  I  was 
obliged  to  assume  any  new  and  magnificent  habit, 
whether  to  appear  at  court,  or  to  dine  with  my  aca- 
demical associates,  who  rivalled  me  in  such  follies,  I 
immediately  threw  it  off  after  dinner  when  any  of  my 
other  friends  came  to  visit  me  ',  I  uniformly  put  it 
aside  in  order  that  they  might  not  see  it,  for  it  seemed 
in  my  eyes  a  crhne  to  have  such  a  dress,  and  still  even 


112  MEMOIRS   OF  ' 

a  greater  to  display  things  which  my  friends  and  equals 
possessed  not.  Thus,  though  I  had  obtained,  after 
much  strife  with  my  guardian,  a  very  elegant  chariot, 
—  a  vehicle  of  no  use  whatever  to  a  boy  of  sixteen 
years  of  age  in  a  city  such  as  Turin,  —  I  yet  never 
entered  it,  because  none  of  my  acquaintances  possessed 
one,  but  were  obliged  to  walk  on  foot.  I  ran  no  risk 
of  being  envied  for  my  saddle-horses,  since  they  were 
at  liberty  to  use  them  in  common  with  myself,  though 
each  had  his  own  maintained  at  the  expense  of  their 
parents.  This  luxury  was  to  me  the  most  agreeable 
of  any  other,  since  it  gave  me  no  invidious  superiority 
over  the  rest  of  my  associates. 

.  Whoever  impartially  examines  this  sketch  will  be 
able,  I  conceive,  notwithstanding  the  errors  incident  to 
youth,  and  the  faults  originating  from  a  love  of  indo- 
lence and  a  bad  system  of  education,  to  discover  in  it 
traces  of  a  love  of  justice,  uninfluenced  by  prejudices 
of  birth  or  fortune,  and  a  greatness  of  mind,  —  features 
which  constitute  the  essential  characteristics  of  a  free 
man,  or  of  one  deserving  to  be  so. 


X. 

HAVING  gone  to  spend  a  month  in  the  country  with 
two  brothers,  who  were  my  particular  friends  and  asso- 
ciates in  my  riding  excursions,  I  for  the  first  time  felt, 
in  the  most  unequivocal  manner,  the  influence  of  the 
tender  passion.  I  became  smitten  with  their  sister-in- 
law,  the  wife  of  their  elder  brother,  a  young,  vivacious, 
and  enchanting  brunette.  In  consequence  of  this  at- 
tachment I  fell  into  a  profound  melancholy,  became 
restless  whether  in  her  presence  or  when  absent  from 
her,  and  so  embarrassed  as  to  prevent  me  uttering  a 


YITTORIO   ALFIERI.  113 

single  syllabic,  if  I  casually  met  her  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  her  brothers-in-law,  who  never  quitted  her. 
After  our  return  from  the  country,  I  spent  whole  days 
in  the  public  walks  and  in  going  from  one  street  to 
another,  that  I  might  have  the  pleasure  of  beholding 
her.  What  superadded  to  my  sufferings  was  the  im- 
possibility of  speaking  of  her,  or  of  ever  hearing  her 
name  even  pronounced.  In  fine,  I  became  a  victim  to 
all  the  feelings  which  Petrarch  has  so  inimitably  de- 
picted in  some  of  his  pieces }  feelings  which  few  can 
comprehend,  and  which  fewer  still  ever  experience. 
This  first  attachment,  wrhich  never  produced  any  seri- 
ous consequences,  is  not  even  now  wholly  extinguished 
in  my  mind.  During  my  unceasing  travels  for  a  suc- 
cession of  years  it  has  uniformly  continued,  without 
any  act  of  volition  or  almost  perception  on  my  part,  to 
haunt  my  imagination  and  to  pursue  my  steps.  It 
seemed  like  a  voice  crying  from  the  inmost  recesses  of 
my  heart,  "If  thou  pro  vest  thyself  worthy  thou  may- 
est  render  thyself  acceptable  in  the  sight  of  this  female; 
and  should  circumstances  change,  thou  mayest  yet  em- 
body what  has  hitherto  been  only  a  shadow." 

During  the  autumn  of  1765  I  undertook,  in  com- 
pany with  my  guardian,  a  journey  to  Genoa  :  it  was 
the  first  I  had  ever  made.  The  view  of  the  sea  ex- 
cited my  wonder  and  admiration,  and  I  was  never  tired 
with  contemplating  it.  The  picturesque  and  magnifi- 
cent situation  of  this  superb  city  also  served  to  enchant 
my  senses.  Had  I  been  capable  of  transfusing  my 
ideas  into  poetic  language,  I  should  most  certainly 
have  written  verses ;  but  during  the  two  last  years  I 
had  scarcely  ever  opened  a  book,  except  a  few  French 
romances  and  some  of  the  prose  works  of  Voltaire, 
which  last  I  never  perused  but  with  pleasure. 


114  MEMOIRS   OF 

In  my  way  to  Genoa  I  experienced  the  inexpressible 
satisfaction  of  visiting  my  mother  and  my  natal  city. 
I  had  not  seen  these  objects,  so  dear  to  me,  for  seven 
years,  which  at  my  age  seemed  so  many  centuries. 
On  returning  from  Genoa  I  conceived  that  I  had  per- 
formed a  great  exploit  and  been  a  great  traveller ;  but 
though  I  regarded  myself,  in  consequence  of  this  jour- 
ney, as  far  superior  to  many  of  my  academical  friends, 
whom,  however,  I  did  not  attempt  to  mortify  by  dis- 
playing my  pride  on  the  occasion,  I  yet  felt  myself 
humbled  at  the  recollection  of  my  inferiority  in  that 
respect  to  the  students  from  remote  countries,  such  as 
England,  Germany,  Poland,  and  Prussia,  who  con- 
sidered my  journey  as  a  mere  trifle.  Hence  I  was 
seized  with  a  mania  of  seeing  foreign  parts,  and  in  par- 
ticular of  visiting  their  countries. 

The  last  eighteen  months  that  I  remained  in  the 
first  apartment  flew  rapidly  away  in  idleness  and  con- 
tinual dissipation.  On  my  entrance  into  it  I  had  in- 
scribed my  name  in  the  list  of  those  who  wish  to  be 
employed  in  the  army ;  and  three  years  afterwards,  in 
the  month  of  May,  1766, 1  was  included  in  a  promo- 
tion of  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  youths.  For  sev- 
eral months  I  had  become  disinclined  to  a  military  life, 
but,  not  having  withdrawn  my  name,  I  was  forced  to 
accept  an  ensign's  commission  in  the  provincial  regi- 
ment of  Asti.  I  had  originally  requested  an  appoint- 
ment in  the  cavalry,  on  account  of  the  passion  I  had 
for  horses ;  but  I  afterwards  changed  the  object  of  my 
solicitation,  and  was  permitted  to  enter  one  of  these 
provincial  regiments,  which,  in  time  of  peace,  are  only 
called  out  twice  a  year  for  a  few  days.  I  remained 
then  at  perfect  liberty  to  do  nothing,  the  only  state 
which  was  really  irksome  to  me.  My  entrance  into 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  115 

the  militia  obliged  me,  however,  to  quit  the  acad- 
emy, where  I  resided  voluntarily  arid  with  pleasure 
to  myself  now  that  I  was  freed  from  every  species 
of  restraint  ;  but  leave  it  I  must,  and  in  the  course  of 
May  I  took  my  departure,  after  having  been  a  resident 
in  it  for  eight  years.  In  the  month  of  September  I 
repaired  for  the  first  time  to  a  review  of  my  regiment 
at  Asti,  where  I  fulfilled  with  the  greatest  punctuality 
all  the  duties  of  my  station,  which  I  nevertheless  de- 
tested. I  could  never  accustom  my  mind  to  yield  to 
that  gradual  chain  of  dependence  termed  subordina- 
tion, which  is  the  soul  of  military  discipline,  but  which 
could  never  enter  into  the  head  of  the  future  tragic 
poet. 

On  leaving  the  academy  I  took  possession  of  a  small 
but  handsome  apartment  in  the  house  of  my  sister.  I 
amused  myself  in  squandering  away  my  money  among 
my  betters,  in  the  purchase  of  horses,  in  superfluities 
of  every  kind,  and  in  giving  entertainments  to  my 
friends  and  my  fellow- students  of  the  academy.  A 
rage  for  travelling,  which  I  had  imbibed  from  my  fre- 
quent intercourse  with  foreigners,  induced  me,  con- 
trary to  my  character,  to  devise  a  little  stratagem  in 
order  to  obtain  permission  to  visit  Rome  and  Naples 
for  at  least  a  year.  I  prevailed  on  an  English  pre- 
ceptor, a  Catholic,  who  had  accompanied  in  their  trav- 
els to  Italy  a  Flemish  and  Dutch  youth,  with  whom 
I  passed  more  than  a  year  at  the  academy,  to  take 
charge  of  me.  I  acted  so  as  to  render  even  these 
young  people  themselves  anxious  to  have  me  for  their 
travelling  companion.  I  induced  my  brother-in-law 
to  obtain  permission  from  the  king  for  me  to  depart 
under  the  direction  of  this  English  tutor,  a  man  who 
was  pretty  far  advanced  in  life,  and  possessed  an  ex- 


116  MEMOIRS   OF 

cellent  character.  This  was  the  first  plot  in  which  I 
had  ever  engaged,  and  I  had  little  to  reproach  myself 
with.  Some  art  was  necessary  to  persuade  the  tutor, 
my  brother-in-law,  and  especially  my  avaricious  guar- 
dian, to  accede  to  my  views ;  but  though  I  succeeded, 
I  was  ashamed  and  indignant  at  the  flattery  and  dis- 
simulation which  I  had  been  forced  to  employ  in  order 
to  accomplish  my  purpose. 

His  majesty,  who  interfered  in  the  most  trifling 
affairs,  was  hostile  to  any  of  the  nobles  leaving  the 
kingdom,  especially  a  youth  who  had  given  early  in- 
dications of  possessing  rather  a  singular  character.  It 
was  therefore  necessary  that  I  should  bend  myself  very 
low ;  but  happily  this  did  not  prevent  me  from  after- 
wards assuming  my  former  height. 

In  thus  concluding  the  second  epoch  of  my  life  I  am 
fully  aware  that  it  is  composed  of  still  more  insipid 
minutiaB  than  even  the  first.  I  advise  my  readers  not 
to  dwell  on  it  too  long,  and  to  bear  in  mind  that  these 
eight  years  of  my  adolescence  comprise  a  period  of 
sickness,  idleness,  and  ignorance. 


THIRD    EPOCH. 


YOUTH. 

COMPREHENDING    ABOUT    TEN    YEARS    OF    TRAVEL- 
LING AND  IRREGULARITIES. 


I. 

]N  the  morning  of  the  4th  of  October,  1766, 
after  passing  a  sleepless  night,  occupied  with 
the  most  foolish  ideas,  I  set  out  with  inex- 
pressible delight  on  this  so-muchTwished-for 
journey. 

I  travelled  in  the  same  carriage  with  my  three  com- 
panions, our  domestics  followed  in  a  coach,  and  we 
were  preceded  by  my  valet  as  courier.  This  was  not 
the  old  man  who  acted  in  quality  of  my  governor  for 
nearly  three  years,  but  a  domestic  of  my  late  uncle's, 
and  who  at  his  death  had  entered  into  my  service: 
he  was  called  Francis  Elias.  He  had  twice  accom- 
panied my  uncle  to  Sardinia,  and  had  attended  him  in 
his  travels  through  France,  England,  and  Holland. 
He  possessed  a  mind  of  great  acuteness,  joined  to  un- 
common activity,  and  was  of  more  use  than  all  the 
other  four  domestics  put  together.  He  must  henceforth 
be  considered  as  chief  director  of  my  travels,  since  I 
found  him  on  this  occasion  our  only  sure  guide;  the 


118  MEMOIRS    OF 

others,  masters  and  servants,  possessing  all  the  inca- 
pacity of  infants,  or  of  old  men  reduced  to  a  state  of 
second  childhood. 

We  remained  fifteen  days  at  Milan.  I  had  lived  at 
Turin,  the  situation  of  which  is  so  beautiful ;  I  had 
seen  Genoa  two  years  before,  it  was  therefore  impossi- 
ble I  could  be  much  pleased  with  Milan.  The  few 
things  worthy  of  observation  I  did  not  see,  or  at  least 
viewed  them  in  a  hasty  and  imperfect  manner,  being 
utterly  ignorant  of  every  useful  and  agreeable  art. 

I  recollect  among  other  things  that  on  visiting  the 
Ambrosian  Library,  the  librarian  presented  me  with 
an  autograph  manuscript  of  Petrarch,  which  I,  like  a 
true  savage,  returned  to  him  with  the  greatest  indiffer- 
ence. I  entertained  a  species  of  hatred  against  this 
divine  poet,  because  during  the  time  1  attended  philos- 
ophy, his  works  having  fallen  into  my  hands,  I  had 
opened  them  here  and  there,  and  had  read  or  rather 
spelt  a  few  verses  without  comprehending  them.  Im- 
bibing the  opinion  of  the  French  and  of  others  equally 
arrogant  and  presumptuous,  I  repeated  after  them  that 
Petrarch  was  nothing  more  than  a  frivolous  witling. 

Besides,  the  only  books  I  had  provided  myself  with 
for  this  twelve  months'  journey  were  some  travels  in 
Italy,  which  were  mostly  written  in  French,  and  I  thus 
proceeded  to  the  summit  of  barbarism,  towards  which 
I  had  already  made  so  many  hasty  strides.  I  conversed 
with  my  travelling  companions  wholly  in  French  ;  and 
in  all  the  Milanese  houses  to  which  we  had  introduc- 
tions this  was  the  only  language  spoken ;  so  that  when 
I  wished  to  arrange  any  ideas  in  my  poor  little  head 
they  were  always  clothed  in  French.  The  few  letters 
I  wrote  were  written  in  French,  the  little  ridiculous 
journal  of  my  travels  was  likewise  written  in  this  Ian- 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  119 

guage;  yet  all  this  was  nothing.  I  only  knew  this 
language  by  rote,  and  if  I  had  ever  been  taught  any 
rules,  I  had  perfectly  forgotten  them.  I  knew  still  less 
of  Italian  ;  such  are  the  misfortunes  which  result  from 
being  born  in  an  amphibious  country,  and  from  the 
erroneous  education  I  had  received. 

We  departed  from  Milan  after  a  stay  of  nearly  fifteen 
days.  I  shall  not  here  repeat  what  I  had  written  in 
the  journal  already  mentioned ;  I  committed  it  to  the 
ilames.  Neither  shall  I  enter  into  the  details  of  the 
journey  of  an  uninformed  boy  through  countries  so  well 
known  ;  nor  attempt  to  describe  all  the  cities  which  I 
visited  in  the  true  style  of  a  Vandal.  I  will  speak 
only  of  myself,  since  I  am  the  unfortunate  subject  of 
this  work. 

We  arrived  in  a  few  days  at  Bologna,  by  the  way  of 
Placenza,  Parma,  and  Modena.  We  stopped  only  a 
single  day  at  Parma,  and  but  a  few  hours  at  Modena, 
taking  as  usual  only  a  cursory  and  imperfect  view  of 
the  objects  pointed  out  to  us  as  worthy  of  notice. 

The  greatest  pleasure  I  experienced  in  this  journey, 
and  indeed  the  only  one  of  which  I  was  susceptible, 
was  the  travelling  post  on  the  great  roads.  I  neither 
found  the  porticos  nor  the  pictures  of  Bologna  to  my 
taste ;  I  was  no  connoisseur.  Restless  and  inquiet,  I 
teased  without  ceasing  our  preceptor  to  proceed.  About 
the  end  of  October  we  reached  Florence.  This  was 
the  first  city  since  our  departure  from  Turin,  the  situa- 
tion of  which  pleased  me,  though  I  did  not  admire  it 
so  much  as  Genoa,  which  I  had  visited  two  years  be- 
fore. We  remained  there  a  month.  During  our  stay 
I  visited  in  my  usual  manner  those  places  pointed  out 
by  fame  to  the  attention  of  travellers  ;  such  as  the  pal- 
ace of  Pitti,  the  gallery,  and  different  churches.  All 


120  MEMOIRS   OF 

this  inspired  me  with  disgust.  I  possessed  no  taste  for 
the  fine  arts,  and  especially  painting;  my  eyes  wero 
insensible  to  the  beauty  of  this  divine  art.  If  I  pos- 
sessed a  taste  for  anything  it  was  sculpture,  and  still 
more  for  architecture  j  perhaps  from  being  associated 
with  the  memory  of  my  excellent  uncle.  The  tomb  of 
Michael  Angelo  was  among  the  small  number  of  ob- 
jects which  attracted  my  attention.  I  made  some 
reflections  on  the  memory  of  this  celebrated  man ;  I 
felt  from  this  moment,  that  no  one  can  be  truly  great 
but  those  who  leave  behind  them  some  durable  mon- 
ument of  their  talent  and  their  genius.  This  idea  was, 
however,  soon  effaced  amid  the  constant  whirl  of  dis- 
sipation in  which  I  lived. 

Among  all  the  errors  of  my  youth,  I  do  not  reckon 
it  the  least,  that,  during  my  short  stay  at  Florence,  I 
began  to  learn  English  under  a  very  indifferent  master, 
in  place  of  endeavoring,  from  the  example  of  those 
happy  Tuscans,  at  least  to  make  myself  understood  in 
their  own  divine  language,  which  I  mangled  in  the 
most  barbarous  manner  every  time  I  was  obliged  to 
employ  it.  Shame  made  me  avoid  speaking  it  as  much 
as  possible ;  but  this  feeling  was  not  sufficiently  power- 
ful to  overcome  my  indolence.  I,  however,  corrected 
my  pronunciation  of  our  horrible  w,  Lombard  or 
French,  which  had  always  displeased  me  by  its  meagre 
articulation,  and  by  the  little  mouth  made  by  the  draw- 
ing in  of  the  lips  of  those  who  pronounced  it ;  and 
which  may  justly  be  termed  the  ridiculous  grimace  of 
monkeys.  Even  at  present,  after  a  five  or  six  years' 
residence  in  France,  where  my  ears  might  have  become 
accustomed  to  its  sound,  I  can  never  restrain  my  risible 
faculty  either  in  the  theatre  or  the  drawing-room,  when 
I  behold  little  lips  draAvn  together  in  speaking,  as  if 
they  were  blowing  over  boiling  pottage. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  121 

Losing  my  time  at  Florence,  seeing  little,  learning 
still  less,  I  soon  became  disgusted,  and  again  teasing 
my  old  preceptor,  we  departed  for  Lucca  on  the  first  of 
December.  The  single  day  which  we  remained  at 
Lucca  appeared  to  me  an  age,  and  we  accordingly  set 
out  for  Pisa.  Another  day  passed  at  this  place  seemed 
equally  long,  though  I  was  much  pleased  with  the 
Campo-Santo.  From  this  place  we  departed  for  Leg- 
horn. This  city  enchanted  me  not  only  from  the  slight 
resemblance  it  bears  to  Turin,  but  from  a  view  of  the 
sea,  of  which  I  never  became  tired.  During  a  stay  of 
eight  or  ten  days  which  we  made  at  this  place,  I  con- 
tinued to  mangle  the  English  language  in  the  most 
shocking  manner,  at  the  same  time  that  I  shut  my  ears 
against  the  Tuscan.  On  afterwards  endeavoring  to  in- 
vestigate the  cause  of  this  foolish  preference,  I  became 
convinced  that  it  resulted  from  a  mistaken  self-love,  of 
which  I  was  not  aware  at  the  time.  Having  lived  two 
or  three  years  almost  wholly  among  the  English,  hav- 
ing heard  their  power  and  riches  everywhere  celebrated ; 
having  contemplated  their  great  political  influence,  and 
on  the  other  hand  viewing  Italy  wholly  degraded  from 
her  rank  as  a  nation,  and  the  Italians  divided,  weak, 
and  enslaved,  I  was  ashamed  of  being  an  Italian,  and 
wished  not  to  possess  anything  in  common  with  this 
nation. 

From  Leghorn  we  proceeded  to  Siena,  the  site  of 
which  I  did  not  admire ;  but  here  a  ray  of  light  darted 
suddenly  across  my  mind ;  my  feelings  were  subdued 
by  hearing  the  language  of  these  people,  which  they 
spoke  with  elegance,  clearness,  and  perfect  precision. 
I  remained,  however,  only  twenty-four  hours  among 
them.  The  period  of  my  literary  and  political  con- 
version was  yet  far  distant ;  and  it  was  necessary  that 


122  MEMOIRS   OF 

I  should  live  for  a  long  time  at  a  distance  from  Italy , 
in  order  to  know  and  appreciate  the  Italians. 

I  at  length  commenced,  with  a  beating  heart,  my 
journey  to  Rome.  I  scarcely  slept  during  the  night, 
while  in  the  day  my  imagination  dwelt  constantly 
on  St.  Peter's,  the  Pantheon,  etc.,  which  I  had  heard 
so  much  extolled.  I  also  reverted  to  some  traits  of 
Roman  history,  which  I  perfectly  recollected,  though 
without  order,  as  it  was  the  only  history  which  I  had 
voluntarily  read  in  my  youth. 

It  was  in  December,  1766,  I  do  not  recollect  the 
day,  that  I  at  length  beheld  the  gate  Del  Popolo.  The 
sight  of  this  superb  entrance  attracted  my  eyes,  and 
consoled  me  for  the  painful  feelings  I  had  experienced 
on  witnessing  the  misery  and  wretchedness  of  the 
people  of  Viterbo.  Scarcely  had  we  alighted  at  the 
lodgings  provided  for  us,  than  myself  and  my  two 
young  companions,  leaving  our  tutor  to  his  repose, 
began  to  run  through  the  city,  and  among  other  places 
visited  the  Pantheon.  Those  youths  displayed  even 
greater  surprise  than  myself  at  what  we  saw ;  a  cir- 
cumstance which  I  could  readily  explain  on,  several 
years  afterwards,  visiting  the  countries  of  which  they 
were  natives.  We  remained  only  eight  days  at  Rome, 
every  moment  of  which  was  occupied  in  gratifying 
our  eager  curiosity.  For  myself,  I  experienced  more 
gratification  in  repairing  twice  a  day  to  Saint  Peter's 
than  to  view  any  other  of  the  numerous  novelties 
which  presented  themselves  to  our  notice.  I  remarked 
that  this  admirable  union  of  sublime  objects  did  not  at 
first  make  such  a  powerful  impression  on  my  mind  as 
I  expected ;  but  my  admiration  continued  to  increase, 
though  I  only  became  fully  sensible  of  the  true  value 
of  so  many  wonders  when,  after  being  disgusted  with 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  123 

the  miserable  display  of  ultramontane  magnificence,  I 
arrived  some  years  afterwards  in  order  to  take  up  my 
permanent  abode  in  Home. 


II. 

WINTER  approached,  and  I  unceasingly  importuned 
our  preceptor  to  depart  for  Naples,  where  we  intended 
to  pass  the  carnival.  We  travelled  in  hired  carriages. 
The  roads  between  Rome  and  Naples  were  almost  im- 
passable, and  my  valet,  Elias,  having  broken  his  arm 
by  a  fall  from  his  horse  near  Radicofani,  we  took  him 
into  our  carriage,  from  the  jolting  of  which  he  suffered 
much. 

He  displayed  on  the  occurrence  of  this  accident  great 
fortitude  and  presence  of  mind.  He  rose  without 
assistance,  and  led  his  horse  by  the  bridle  for  about  a 
mile  to  this  village.  While  he  waited  for  a  surgeon, 
he  caused  the  sleeve  of  his  coat  to  be  opened,  and, 
having  found  on  inspection  that  his  arm  was  really 
fractured,  he  placed  the  bones  in  a  proper  situation 
with  his  other  hand,  the  injured  arm  being  held  by  an 
assistant. 

The  surgeon,  who  entered  the  house  nearly  at  the 
time  we  did,  found  the  operation  so  well  performed  that 
he  did  nothing  but  apply  proper  bandages  to  the  frac- 
tured member,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  we  again  set 
out,  accompanied  in  our  carriage  by  the  patient,  who 
notwithstanding  his  sufferings  uttered  not  a  single  com- 
plaint. 

On  arriving  at  Aquapendente  we  found  the  pole  of 
our  carriage  was  broken,  which  produced  among  us 
the  greatest  embarrassment.  Elias  alone,  with  his 


124  MEMOIRS   OF 

arm  in  a  sling,  and  only  three  hours  after  the  accident, 
gave  so  much  assistance,  and  displayed  so  much  activ- 
ity, that  the  pole  was  very  soon  repaired,  and  we 
reached  Naples  without  any  other  accident. 

I  take  pleasure  in  recording  this  adventure,  as  it  dis- 
plays the  character  of  a  man  possessing  presence  of 
mind  and  courage  far  superior  to  his  condition  in  life. 
It  gives  me  particular  satisfaction  to  praise  and  admire 
these  simple  and  natural  qualities.  Woe  to  those 
tyrarfnical  and  infamous  governments  who  neglect,  fear, 
or  stifle  them. 

We  arrived  at  Naples  on  the  second  day  of  Christmas. 
The  entrance  of  Capo  di  China  hy  the  street  of  Toledo 
exhibited  this  city  to  me  under  such  a  gay  and  pleasing 
aspect  that  it  will  never  be  effaced  from  my  memory. 
But  we  were  obliged  to  take  up  our  lodgings  at  a 
very  indifferent  hotel,  situated  in  one  of  the  most 
gloomy  and  worst  streets  in  the  city,  as  all  the  best 
inns  were  already  crowded  with  guests.  This  circum- 
stance empoisoned  the  delight  I  felt  in  this  charming 
city.  The  cheerful  or  gloomy  situation  of  a  house  had 
always  an  irresistible  influence  on  my  weak  head  till  I 
arrived  at  a  much  more  advanced  age. 

A  few  days  after  I  was  introduced  to  several  different 
families  by  the  Sardinian  minister.  The  carnival  ap- 
peared to  me  more  brilliant  and  agreeable  than  any- 
thing of  the  same  kind  I  ever  witnessed  at  Turin,  not 
only  on  account  of  the  public  spectacles,  but  from  the 
number  of  private  entertainments,  and  the  vast  variety 
of  exhibitions.  In  spite,  however,  of  this  constant 
whirl  of  dissipation,  my  being  master  of  my  own 
actions,  notwithstanding  I  had  plenty  of  money,  was 
in  the  heyday  of  youth,  and  possessed  of  a  prepos- 
sessing figure,  I  yet  felt  everywhere  satiety,  ennui,  and 


VITTOBIO   ALFIERI.  125 

disgust.  My  greatest  pleasure  consisted  in  attending 
the  opera  buft'u,  tliough  the  gay  and  lively  music  left 
a  deep  and  melancholy  impression  on  my  mind.  A 
thousand  gloomy  and  mournful  ideas  assailed  my  im- 
agination, in  which  I  delighted  to  indulge  by  wander- 
ing alone  on  the  shores  near  the  Chiaja  and  Portici. 
I  had  formed  an  acquaintance  with  several  young 
Neapolitans,  but  without  entertaining  a  friendship  for 
any  of  them  ;  my  natural  and  evident  backwardness 
prevented  me  from  making  the  first  advances,  while  it 
repressed  every  attempt  at  intimacy  on  the  part  of 
those  with  whom  I  associated.  In  my  intercourse  with 
the  fair  sex,  for  whom  I  always  entertained  a  great 
predilection,  the  same  backwardness  kept  me  at  a  dis- 
tance from  those  possessing  gentleness  and  modesty  of 
disposition,  while  my  society  was  courted  by  the  bold 
and  forward ;  and  thus  I  experienced  a  perpetual  void 
in  my  heart ;  besides,  the  ardent  passion  I  always  in- 
tertained  for  visiting  distant  countries  made  me  care- 
fully shun  the  chains  of  love.  At  this  period  I  avoided 
all  its  snares ;  I  flew  about  the  whole  day  in  a  light 
cabriolet  in  search  of  amusement ;  but  from  my  ex- 
treme ignorance  I  reaped  neither  profit  nor  pleasure 
from  any  of  the  objects  I  visited.  I  merely  ran  from 
place  to  place,  because  repose  was  insupportable  to  me. 
I  was  introduced  at  court,  and  though  Ferdinand  IV. 
was  only  between  twelve  and  sixteen,  I  discovered  a 
great  resemblance  in  his  manners  to  those  of  the  three 
other  sovereigns  whom  I  had  already  seen,  our  old 
worthy  monarch  Charles  Emanuel,  the  Duke  of  Mo- 
dena,  Governor  of  Milan,  and  Leopold,  Grand  Duke 
of  Tuscany,  who  was  still  extremely  young.  I  had 
found  the  same  resemblance  in  almost  all  the  reigning 
princes,  as  well  as  in  the  fashions,  habits,  and  manners 


126  MEMOIRS   OF 

of  the  different  courts.  During  my  abode  at  Naples 
I  began  to  intrigue  anew,  through  the  medium  of  the 
Sardinian  minister,  to  obtain  permission  from  the  court 
of  Turin  to  leave  my  tutor,  and  continue  my  travels 
alone.  Though  I  and  my  young  companions  lived 
in  the  utmost  harmony,  and  though  our  old  mentor 
never  thwarted  us,  yet,  as  it  was  necessary  to  consult 
him  respecting  the  choice  of  inns,  and  as  he  was  always 
irresolute  and  changeable,  we  found  this  subjection  in- 
supportable. With  this  view  I  entreated  our  minister 
to  write  in  my  favor  to  Turin,  to  give  testimony  to  my 
good  conduct,  and  affirm  that  I  was  fully  capable  of 
conducting  myself  and  of  travelling  alone.  The  affair 
succeeding  to  my  wish,  I  felt  a  lively  gratitude  towards 
the  minister,  who,  taking  a  warm  interest  in  all  my 
concerns,  was  the  first  who  advised  me  to  apply  to  the 
study  of  politics  in  order  to  fit  me  for  entering  the  dip- 
lomatic line.  This  idea  highly  delighted  me.  I  con- 
ceived that  of  all  situations  this  was  the  most  desirable. 
My  ideas  were  for  a  long  time  directed  towards  it, 
without,  however,  applying  myself  to  those  studies 
necessary  to  qualify  me  for  such  an  important  station 
in  the  community. 

I  was  silent  respecting  my  intentions,  and,  conceiv- 
ing that  a  regular  and  orderly  behavior  was  the  only 
thing  requisite  in  order  to  succeed  in  my  designs,  I 
assumed  a  sedateness  of  demeanor  which  was  perhaps 
inconsistent  with  my  years,  and  for  which  I  was  more 
indebted  to  instinct  than  to  volition.  I  always  pos- 
sessed a  certain  gravity  of  manners,  and  something 
like  regularity  in  everything  I  undertook ;  even  when 
I  committed  a  fault,  I  was  not  unconscious  of  the 
cause. 

Hitherto  I  was  entirely  unacquainted  with  my  own 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  127 

powers ;  I  conceived  myself  incapable  of  everything ; 
I  had  no  decided  partiality  for  any  pursuit ;  obstinately 
cherishing  the  most  gloomy  and  melancholy  ideas,  I 
never  enjoyed  a  moment  of  tranquillity  or  repose.  I 
was  blindly  led  in  everything  by  an  instinct,  which 
I  neither  fully  comprehended  nor  endeavored  to  under- 
stand. 

Several  years  after  I  became  sensible  that  my  un- 
happiness  originated  solely  from  the  want,  or  rather 
the  necessity,  of  having  my  heart  occupied  with  a 
serious  passion,  and  my  mind  bent  on  some  ennobling 
and  praiseworthy  pursuit.  When  one  of  these  resour- 
ces failed  me  I  became  dissatisfied  with  everything, 
and  overwhelmed  with  the  most  insupportable  chagrin 
and  disgust. 

Anxious  to  avail  myself  of  my  newly  acquired  in- 
dependence, I  proposed,  on  the  termination  of  the 
carnival,  to  set  out  alone  for  Rome,  as  our  old  mentor, 
who  waited,  as  he  said,  for  letters  from  Flanders, 
declined  fixing  any  precise  period  for  our  departure. 
But,  impatient  to  leave  Naples  and  visit  Rome,  or,  to 
speak  more  truly,  impatient  to  travel  alone  and  as  my 
own  master  more  than  three  hundred  miles  from  my 
natal  prison,  I  refused  any  longer  to  defer  my  journey, 
and  accordinglyv  took  leave  of  my  companions.  In 
this  respect  I  had  judged  properly,  for  they  remained 
at  Naples  during  the  whole  of  April,  and  did  not 
reach  Venice  in  time  to  witness  the  solemnity  of  the 
ascension;  which  I  ardently  longed  to  behold. 

III. 

MY  faithful  Elias,  who  had  preceded  my  arrival  at 
Rome  three  days,  had  prepared  for  my  reception  a 


128  MEMOIRS   OF 

very  handsome  apartment  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Trin- 
ity, which  soon  consoled  me  for  the  filth  of  Naples. 
But  I  was  still  haunted  with  the  same  melancholy, 
ennui,  and  restlessness ;  I  was  shamefully  deficient  in 
every  useful  or  valuable  acquisition,  and  my  indiffer- 
ence for  the  beautiful  and  magnificent  objects  with 
which  Rome  abounds  daily  augmented.  I  visited 
only  three  or  four  of  them,  and  to  these  I  habitually 
returned.  I  went  every  day  to  the  house  of  the  Count 
de  Rivera,  the  Sardinian  minister,  a  venerable  old 
man,  who  gave  me  the  best  advice,  and  of  whose 
society  I  v never  became  weary,  though  he  was  ex- 
tremely deaf.  On  happening  to  call  one  day,  a  beau- 
tiful Virgil  in  folio  was  lying  on  the  table,  open  at  the 
sixth  book  of  the  ./Eneid.  On  seeing  me  enter,  the 
good  old  man  made  me  a  sign  to  approach,  and  began 
to  recite  aloud  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm  the 
beautiful  verses  on  Marcellus,  with  which  almost 
every  one  is  acquainted.  As  for  me,  who  no  longer 
understood  them,  though  I  had  translated,  explained, 
and  recited  them  six  years  before,  I  felt  so  ashamed, 
and  experienced  such  profound  grief,  that  during  sev- 
eral days  I  did  nothing  but  reflect  on  my  ignorance, 
and  ne verm  ore  returned  to  the  house  of  the  count. 
But  the  torpor  and  indolence  of  my ' mind  were  such 
that  it  require^  something  more  than  a  transient  regret 
to  overcome  them.  But  this  beneficial  shame  passed 
away  without  leaving  any  trace,  and  during  several 
years  I  neither  read  Virgil,  nor  any  other  work  of 
merit  whatever. 

In  this  second  visit  to  Eome  I  was  presented  to 
that  worthy  old  man,  Pope  Clement  XIII.  His  ven- 
erable and  majestic  appearance  and  the  magnificence 
of  the  palace  of  Monti  Cavallo  deprived  me  of  all 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  129 

repugnance  to  the  usual  ceremony  of  prostration, 
though  I  had  read  the  ecclesiastical  history,  and  knew 
how  to  estimate  this  ridiculous  formality. 

It  was  now  that  I  began  my  third  little  plot, 
through  the  medium  of  the  Count  de  Rivera,  to  obtain 
permission  from  the  paternal  court  of  Turin  to  travel 
for  another  twelvemonth  through  France,  England, 
and  Holland,  the  very  names  of  which  made  my 
youthful  heart  throb  with  delight.  This  little  artifice 
again  proved  successful,  and  I  found  myself  at  liberty 
to  roam  through  the  world  during  the  year  1768.  A 
little  difficulty,  however,  occurred  which  greatly  afflicted 
me ;  my  guardian,  with  whom  I  had  never  reckoned, 
and  who  had  never  allowed  me  the  whole  of  my  reve- 
nues, when  I  had  obtained  this  permission,  wrote  me, 
that  for  the  second  year  he  would  give  me  a  letter  of 
credit  for  fifteen  hundred  sequins,  having  only  allowed 
me  twelve  hundred  for  the  expenses  of  my  first  jour- 
ney. This  niggardly  declaration  gave  me  much  un- 
easiness, without,  however,  discouraging  me.  I  had 
heard  that  living  was  extremely  expensive  in  these 
countries,  and  I  thought  it  hard  to  be  deprived  of  the 
moans  of  appearing  with  respectability.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  durst  not  remonstrate  with  my  avari- 
cious guardian,  lest  I  had  been  prevented  from  prose- 
cuting my  design.  He  would  most  probably  have 
sounded  in  my  ear  the  word  king.  He  might  have 
represented  me  to  his  majesty,  who  interferes  in  all 
the  domestic  concerns  of  the  nobles,  as  a  prodigal  and 
a  libertine,  on  which  account  I  was  anxious  to  avoid 
entering  into  a  quarrel  with  him.  But  I  determined 
in  my  own  mind  to  save  as  much  as  possible  of  the 
twelve  hundred  sequins,  in  order  to  add  to  the  fifteen 
hundred  that  were  promised  me. 


130  MEMOIRS    OF 

Being  thus  restricted  for  the  first  time  in  regard  to 
my  expenditure,  which  had  hitherto  been  sufficiently 
ample,  I  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  the  most  sordid  ava- 
rice. It  carried  me  so  far,  that  I  not  only  refrained 
from  visiting  the  curiosities  of  Rome,  in  order  to  avoid 
the  expense  of  drink-money;  but  I  even  refused  my 
faithful  Elias  what  was  requisite  for  his  support.  So 
niggardly  did  I  become  in  this  respect,  that  he  was  at 
length  compelled  to  inform  me  that  he  would  be 
obliged  to  leave  my  service  and  seek  a  livelihood  else- 
where. Thus  then  I  was  forced,  contrary  to  my 
inclination,  to  augment  his  allowance. 

With  my  mind  contracted,  and  bent  on  my  favorite 
scheme  of  saving,  I  departed  for  Venice  early  in  the 
month  of  May.  My  avarice  led  me  to  hire  mules, 
though  I  detested  the  lagging  pace  of  these  miserable 
animals;  however,  as  the  difference  in  the  expense 
between  this  mode  of  conveyance  and  travelling  post 
was  very  considerable,  I  reluctantly  submitted  to  it. 
Leaving  therefore  Elias  and  my  other  domestics  to 
follow,  I  mounted  my  meagre  Rosinante,  which,  stum- 
bling at  every  step,  obliged  me  to  pursue  the  greater 
part  of  my  journey  on  foot.  I  thus  proceeded,  reck- 
oning in  a  low  voice  on  my  fingers  how  much  it  would 
be  possible  to  save  during  the  ten  or  twelve  days  I 
should  be  on  the  road;  how  much  during  a  month's 
abode  at  Venice,  how  much  on  my  journey  from  Italy, 
and  on  this  and  that  other  occasion. 

I  engaged  the  muleteer  the  whole  way  to  Bologna ; 
but  on  arriving  at  Loretto,  my  lassitude  was  so  intol- 
erable, and  my  spirits  so  depressed,  that  I  relinquished 
this  detestable  method  of  travelling.  Thus  my  nascent 
avarice  was  effectually  overcome  by  the  impatience 
and  ardor  of  my  character.  In  spite  of  every  consid- 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  131 

eration  I  paid  the  muleteer  for  the  period  I  had  agreed 
on,  and,  relieved  from  an  intolerable  weight,  with 
buoyant  spirits  I  posted  the  remainder  of  the  journey. 
From  this  period  my  economy  has  been  always  un- 
tinctured  with  avarice. 

I  was  now  much  less  pleased  with  Bologna  than  on 
my  former  visit ;  my  piety  was  no  longer  excited  by 
the  shrine  of  Loretto,  and  longing  to  behold  Venice, 
respecting  which  I  had  heard  so  many  wonders  dur- 
ing my  infancy,  I  reached  Ferrara.  I  entered  this  city 
without  recollecting  that  it  was  the  birthplace  and 
contained  the  tomb  of  the  divine  Ariosto,  whose 
poems  I  had  perused  with  so  much  delight,  and  which 
were  the  first  that  were  impressed  on  my  memory. 
To  my  shame  be  it  spoken  a  benumbing  torpor  took 
possession  of  my  faculties,  and  my  taste  for  literature 
daily  declined;  I  acquired,  however,  without  perceiv- 
ing it,  some  knowledge  of  men  and  manners  from  the 
various  scenes  I  daily  witnessed. 

I  took  my  passage  on  board  a  packet  termed  the 
Courier  of  Venice,  in  which  I  met  with  a  company  of 
female  dancers,  one  of  whom  was  extremely  beautiful. 
This  circumstance  tended  not,  however,  to  render  the 
voyage  less  tedious,  which  lasted  two  days  and  two 
nights  before  we  reached  Chiozzo;  these  nymphs 
acted  the  part  of  Susannas,  and  I  could  never  tolerate 
assumed  virtues. 

On  arriving  at  Venice  its  position  filled  me  with 
delight  and  astonishment.  I  was  even  pleased  with 
the  jargon  spoken  in  this  city,  because  my  ears  had 
been  accustomed  to  it  in  the  comedies  of  Goldorii, 
which  I  had  read  in  my  infancy.  This  dialect  is,  in 
fact,  rather  agreeable,  but  it  is  wanting  in  dignity. 

The  crowd  of  foreigners,  the  number  of  public  ex- 


132  MEMOIRS   OF 

hibitions,  and  the  various  entertainments  of  every  kind 
which  were  this  year  given*  in  honor  of  the  Prince  of 
Wiirtemberg,  joined  to  those  which  usually  take  place 
at  the  feast  of  the  Ascension,  detained  me  at  Venice 
till  the  middle  of  June,  though  I  did  not  reap  much 
amusement  in  attending  them.  No  sooner  was  their 
novelty  over,  than  my  habitual  melancholy  and  ennui 
returned.  I  passed  several  days  together  in  complete 
solitude,  never  leaving  the  house,  nor  stirring  from  the 
window,  whence  I  made  signs  to-  a  young  lady  who 
lodged  opposite,  and  with  whom  I  occasionally  ex- 
changed a  few  words.  During  the  rest  of  the  day, 
which  liung  very  heavy  on  my  hands,  I  passed  my 
time  either  in  sleeping  or  in  dreaming,  I  knew  not 
which,  and  frequently  in  weeping  without  any  appar- 
ent motive.  I  had  lost  my  tranquillity,  arid  I  was 
unable  even  to  divine  what  had  deprived  me  of  it. 
A  few  years  afterwards,  on  investigating  the  cause  of 
this  occurrence,  I  discovered  that  it  proceeded  from 
a  malady  which  attacked  me  every  spring,  sometimes 
in  April  and  sometimes  in  June;  its  duration  was 
longer  or  shorter,  and  its  violence  very  different,  ac- 
cording as  my  mind  was  occupied. 

I  likewise  experienced  that  my  intellectual  faculties 
resembled  a  barometer,  and  that  I  possessed  more  or 
less  talent  for  composition  in  proportion  to  the  weight 
of  the  atmosphere.  During  the  prevalence  of  the  sol- 
stitial and  equinoctial  winds  I  was  always  remarkably 
stupid,  and  uniformly  evinced  less  penetration  in  the 
evening  than  in  the  morning.  I  likewise  perceived  that 
the  force  of  my  imagination,  the  ardor  of  enthusiasm, 
and  capability  of  invention  were  possessed  by  me  in 
a  higher  degree  in  the  middle  of  winter  or  in  the  mid- 
dle of  summer  than  during  the  intermediate  periods. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  133 

This  materiality,  which  I  believe  to  be  common  to  all 
men  of  a  delicate  nervous  system,  has  greatly  con- 
tributed to  lesson  the  pride  with  which  the  good  I  have 
done  might  have  inspired  me,  in  like  manner  as  it  has 
tended  to  diminish  the  shame  I  might  have  felt  for  the 
errors  I  have  committed,  particularly  in  my  own  art. 
In  short,  I  am  fully  convinced  that  during  the  periods 
of  which  I  now  speak,  it  was  beyond  my  power  to 
produce  anything  great  or  excellent. 

IV. 

MY*  stay  at  Venice  was  altogether  productive  of 
little  satisfaction.  I  did  not  visit  a  tenth  part  of  the 
masterpieces  of  painting,  sculpture,  arid  architecture, 
which  everywhere  abound  in  this  city.  I  confess,  too, 
with  shame,  that  I  did  not  even  take  a  view  of  the 
arsenal.  I  paid  not  the  least  attention  to  the  gov- 
ernment, which  differs  from  all  others;  if  we  cannot 
praise  it  for  being  the  most  excellent,  it  may  at  least 
be  regarded  as  singular,  having  continued  to  exist 
during  so  many  centuries  in  the  greatest  prosperity 
and  tranquillity.  A  stranger  to  the  fine  arts,  I  vege- 
tated in  the  most  shameful  indolence.  At  last  I  set 
out  from  Venice,  and  as  usual  felt  more  pleasure  in 
leaving  than  in  entering  the  city.  I  proceeded  to 
Padua,  which  on  the  whole  I  beheld  with  little  inter- 
est ;  I  d'd  not  introduce  myself  to  any  one  of  its  cele- 
brated professors,  whose  friendship  I  was  so  anxious  to 
cultivate  in  after-life ;  but  at  that  period  the  very 
name  of  a  professor,  study,  or  an  university  filled  me 
with  dismay.  I  knew  not  even  that  a  few  miles  dis- 
tant from  Padua  reposed  the  ashes  of  our  immortal 
Petrarch ;  but  what  had  I  to  do  with  Petrarch,  I  who 


134  MEMOIRS    OF 

had  never  either  read  his  works,  or  comprehended  or 
perceived  their  heauties ;  I  who  had  thoughtlessly 
thrown  them  aside  when  they  accidentally  fell  into  my 
hands f  Constantly  oppressed  by  tedium  and  indo- 
lence, we  rapidly  passed  through  Vicenza,  Verona, 
Mantua,  and  Milan,  in  our  way  to  Genoa,  a  city 
which  I  had  a  few  years  before  seen,  and  which  had 
left  in  my  mind  a  strong  desire  to  revisit  it. 

I  carried  with  me  many  letters  of  introduction  to  per- 
sons residing  in  the  different  countries  through  which 
we  travelled,  but  I  seldom  took  the  trouble  to  deliver 
them.  When  I  did  present  them  at  the  houses  of  the 
persons  to  whom  they  were  addressed,  I  seldom  called 
again,  though  they  themselves  took  infinite  trouble  to 
find  me  out,  in  which,  however,  they  never  almost 
succeeded.  This  conduct  partly  proceeded  from  a  cer- 
tain inherent  pride  and  inflexibility  of  character,  and 
partly  from  an  almost  invincible  antipathy  to  new 
acquaintances ;  a  disposition  wholly  irreconcilable  with 
my  mania  for  incessant  travelling.  Strange  contra- 
diction !  I  longed  to  be  with  the  same  persons,  and 
to  find  them  in  different  places  !  I  soon  also  became 
weary  of  Genoa,  in  which  at  that  time  there  was  no 
Sardinian  ambassador,  and  where  I  knew  m>  one  ex- 
cept my  banker.  I  had  determined  to  take  my  depar- 
ture toward  the  end  of  June,  when  one  day  this 
banker,  who  was  quite  a  man  of  the  world,  paid  me 
a  visit.  He  found  me  alone,  abstracted  and  melan- 
choly ;  he  inquired  how  I  occupied  myself,  and,  having 
discovered  that  I  had  no  books  and  little  knowledge, 
and  that  I  spent  much  of  my  time  in  gazing  from  my 
windows  and  running  through  the  streets  of  Genoa  or 
in  aquatic  excursions,  he  took  pity  on  my  youth,  and 
insisted  on  my  accompanying  him  to  the  residence  of 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  135 

one  of  his  friends.  The  name  of  this  friend  was  the 
Chevalier  Charles  Negroni.  lie  had  spent  a  part  of 
his  life  at  Paris,  and,  observing  that  I  had  an  anxious 
desire  to  visit  that  celebrated  city,  spoke  much  on  the 
subject.  What  he  said  relative  to  this  city  appeared 
to  me  exaggerated,  till  I  arrived  there  a  few  months 
afterwards.  This  noble  and  worthy  man  introduced 
me  to  the  best  society  in  Genoa,  and  at  the  splendid 
festival  given  by  the  new  Doge  on  his  election  he 
attended  me  as  a  guide  and  companion.  It  was  at 
this  time  that  I  had  nearly  fallen  in  love  with  a  beau- 
tiful and  amiable  female  who  appeared  disposed  to  re- 
turn my  passion.  But  my  rage  for  travelling,  and  my 
wish  to  leave  Italy,  rescued  me  from  the  fetters  with 
which  love  threatened  to  enchain  me. 

Having  taken  my  passage  in  a  small  felucca  for  An- 
tibes,  it  seemed  in  my  eyes  as  if  I  were  about  to  make 
a  voyage  to  the  Indies.  In  my  maritime  excursions 
hitherto  I  had  never  been  above  a  few  miles  out  at 
sea.  A  fresh  breeze  sprung  up,  and  soon  carried  us 
to  a  considerable  distance  from  the  shore ;  but  as  this 
soon  changed  into  a  squall,  we  were  obliged  to  steer 
for  Savona,  where  we  remained  for  two  days  waiting 
the  return  of  favorable  weather.  My  spirits  were  so 
much  affected  by  this  delay,  that  I  never  left  my  cham- 
ber, not  even  to  visit  the  celebrated  Virgin  of  Savona ; 
I  neither  wished  to  see  any  more  of  Italy,  nor  to  hear 
it  again  spoken  of.  During  my  stay  I  was  wholly 
absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  the  pleasures  I  ex- 
pected to  realize  on  my  arrival  in  France.  My  hyper- 
bolical imagination  always  magnifies  distant  good  and 
evil  so  much  in  my  eyes,  that  when  I  experience  either 
the  one  or  the  other,  but  particularly  the  former,  the 
effect  is  destroyed. 


136  MEMOIRS   OF 

On  landing  at  Antibes,  everything  I  beheld,  being 
now,  afforded  me  a  subject  of  delight;  for  though  many 
of  these  objects  wore  inferior  to  others  I  had  seen,  yet 
their  variety  excited  in  my  mind  the  most  pleasurable 
sensations.  I  set  out  immediately  for  Toulon,  the 
appearance  of  which  afforded  me  little  gratification,  and 
where  I  saw  nothing  worthy  of  notice.  From  thence  I 
proceeded  to  Marseilles  ;  its  fine  port,  regular  and  well- 
laid- out  streets,  but  especially  the  number  of  beautiful 
and  lively  women  it  contained,  rendered  it  particularly 
attractive  in  my  eyes.  In  order  to  avoid  travelling 
during  the  continuance  of  the  great  heats,  I  determined 
to  take  up  my  abode  in  it  for  one  month.  The  landlord 
of  the  inn  where  I  resided  kept  an  excellent  ordinary ; 
and  as  this  was  frequented  by  a  numerous  company,  I 
"was  under  no  necessity  of  speaking,  which  always  cost 
me  a  painful  effort :  my  taciturnity,  the  effect  of  a 
timidity  I  could  never  wholly  vanquish,  was  redoubled 
by  the  incessant  babbling  of  the  French  officers  and 
merchants  who  resorted  to  this  table  in  great  numbers. 
From  my  disposition  of  mind  it  was  impossible  I  could 
ever  associate  with  any  of  them,  either  on  a  friendly  or 
intimate  footing.  I  attended  willingly  to  their  conver- 
sation, but  without  deriving  any  advantage  from  it ; 
but  I  always  listened  without  an  effort  to  the  discourse 
of  fools,  because  we  learn  from  them  what  they  tell 
us  not. 

My  journey  to  France  was  chiefly  undertaken  with  a 
view  to  become  acquainted  with  the  French  theatre. 
Two  years  previous  to  this  period  I  had  fallen  in  with 
a  pjvrty  of  French  comedians,  and  assiduously  attended 
them  during  the  whole  summer.  In  this  way  I  had 
become  acquainted  with  many  of  their  principal  trage- 
dies, and  with  most  of  their  celebrated  comedies. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  137 

Neither,  however,  while  in  Piedmont,  nor  during  my 
first  or  second  journey  to  France,  did  it  enter  into  my 
head  that  I  should  ever  entertain  a  desire  or  possess 
any  talent  for  dramatic  composition.  I  listened  indeed 
attentively  to  the  productions  of  others,  but  without  any 
attempt  to  imitate  them,  or  any  indication  that  I  myself 
should  become  a  dramatic  author.  On  the  whole,  though 
naturally  less  inclined  to  laugh  than  to  mourn,  I  felt  a 
greater  predilection  for  comedy  than  tragedy.  When 
afterwards  reflecting  on  this  subject,  I  became  convinced 
that  one  of  the  principal  causes  of  my  indifference  for 
tragedy  was  that  in  most  of  the  French  pieces,  whole 
scenes,  nay,  even  acts,  are  filled  with  subordinate  char- 
acters, which  by  unnecessarily  interrupting  the  main 
pl>>t,  destroyed  the  effect  of  the  whole  on  my  mind. 
Besides,  my  ears,  though  I  wished  not  to  be  an  Italian, 
were  disgusted  with  the  monotonous  and  insipid  uni- 
formity of  their  stately  rhymes,  and  their  disagreeable 
nasal  terminations.  Hence,  without  knowing  why, 
though  the  actors  were  superior  to  ours,  though  the 
pieces  were  excellent,  and  depicted  the  emotions  and 
passions  in  an  admirable  manner,  yet  I  felt  occasionally 
the  most  freezing  indifference,  and  departed  very  little 
satisfied 'with  their  performance.  The  tragedies  from 
which  I  derived  the  greatest  gratification  were  Alzire, 
Mahomet,  and  a  few  others. 

After  the  performance,  one  of  my  amusements  at 
Marseilles  was  to  bathe  every  evening  in  the  sea.  I 
was  induced  to  indulge  myself  in  this  luxury  in  conse- 
quence of  finding  a  very  agreeable  spot,  on  a  tongue 
of  land  lying  to  the  right  of  the  harbor,  where,  seated 
on  the  sand,  with  my  back  leaning  against  a  rock,  I 
could  behold  the  sea  and  sky  without  interruption.  In 
the  contemplation  of  these  objects,  embellished  by  the 


138  MEMOIRS   OF 

rays  of  the  setting  sun,  I  passed  my  time  dreaming  of 
future  delights.  There  I  might  unquestionably  have 
become  a  poet,  could  I  have  given  language  to  my 
thoughts  and  feelings. 

The  indolent  man,  or  he  who  is  not  occupied  in  some 
useful  pursuit,  soon  becomes  disgusted  with  everything. 
So  it  was  with  me  on  the  present  occasion.  I  soon 
became  weary  of  Marseilles.  Haunted  by  a  desire  of 
seeing  Paris,  I  left  Marseilles  on  the  10th  of  August, 
rather  like  one  wishing  to  fly  from  himself  than  as  a 
traveller.  I  posted  day  and  night  without  stopping  till 
I  reached  Lyons.  With  my  mind  intently  fixed  on 
Paris,  neither  Aix,  with  its  magnificent  and  delightful 
public  walks,  nor  Avignon,  celebrated  for  containing 
the  tomb  of  Laura,  nor  Vaucluse,  which  had  so  long 
been  the  abode  of  the  immortal  Petrarch,  could  turn  me 
aside  from  my  purpose.  Through  fatigue,  I  was  com- 
pelled to  stop  forty-eight  hours  at  Lyons ;  but  no  sooner 
was  my  strength  recruited,  than  I  again  hurried  on,  and 
arrived  in  less  than  three  days  at  Paris,  by  the  way  of 
Bourgogne. 

V. 

IT  was  on  a  cold,  cloudy,  and  rainy  morning,  between 
the  15th  and  20th  of  August,  that  I  entered  Paris,  by 
the  wretched  suburb  of  St.  Marceau.  Accustomed 
to  the  clear  and  serene  sky  of  Italy  and  Provence,  I  felt 
much  surprised  at  the  thick  fog  which  enveloped  the 
city,  especially  at  this  season.  Never  in  my  life  did  I 
experience  more  disagreeable  feelings  than  on  entering 
the  damp  and  dirty  suburb  of  Saint  Germain,  where  I 
was  to  take  up  my  lodging.  What  inconsiderate  haste, 
what  mad  folly,  had  led  me  into  this  sink  of  filth  and 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  139 

Hastiness !  On  entering  the  inn  I  felt  myself  thoroughly 
undeceived,  and  I  should  certainly  have  set  off  again 
immediately  had  not  shame  and  fatigue  withheld  me. 
My  illusions  were  still  further  dissipated  when  I  began 
to  ramble  through  Paris.  The  mean  and  wretched 
buildings,  the  contemptible  ostentation  displayed  in  a 
few  houses  dignified  with  the  pompous  appellation  of 
hotels  and  palaces,  the  filthiness  of  the  Gothic  churches, 
the  truly  Vandal-like  construction  of  the  public  theatres 
at  that  time,  besides  innumerable  other  disagreeable 
objects,  of  which  not  the  least  disgusting  to  me  was  the 
plastered  countenances  of  many  very  ugly  women,  far 
outweighed  in  my  mind  the  beauty  and  elegance  of  the 
public  walks  and  gardens,  the  infinite  variety  of  fine 
carriages,  the  lofty  facade  of  the  Louvre,  as  well  as  the 
number  of  spectacles  and  entertainments  of  every 
kind. 

The  weather  still  continued  gloomy  and  unfavorable, 
and  for  nearly  fifteen  days,  during  which  I  remained  at 
Paris,  I  never  once  beheld  the  splendid  orb  of  day. 
The  state  of  the  atmosphere  had  always  a  considerable 
influence  on  my  mental  faculties.  Hence,  perhaps,  it 
is  that  the  impression  made  on  my  mind  during  my 
abode  in  Paris  remains  so  indelibly  engraven  on  my 
imagination,  that  even  now,  at  the  distance  of  twenty- 
three  years,  I  think  I  still  experience  it,  notwithstanding 
iny  reason  combats,  and  in  part  condemns  it. 

The  court  had  removed  to  Compiegne,  where  it  in- 
tended to  remain  during  the  month'  of  September.  The 
Sardinian  minister,  for  whom  I  had  letters,  not  being 
at  Paris,  I  knew  not  a  single  soul  excepting  some  for- 
eigners whom  I  had  become  acquainted  with  in  Italy, 
and  who  like  myself  were  unknown  to  any  person  of 
distinction.  Ever  tormented  by  the  demon  of  melan- 


140  MEMOIRS   OF 

choly,  I  spent  most  of  my  time  in  the  public  walks, 
attending  theatrical  amusements.  Our  ambassador 
did  not  return  from  Fontainebleau  to  Paris  till  towards 
the  close  of  November ;  by  him  I  was  introduced  to 
various  families,  and  particularly  to  those  of  the  foreign 
ministers.  It  was  at  the  house  of  the  Spanish  ambas- 
sador that  I  was  first  induced  to  play  at  faro.  Though 
I  neither  won  nor  lost,  I  soon  grew  weary  of  this  as  well 
as  every  other  amusement,  and  resolved  to  depart  in 
the  month  of  January  for  London. 

Satiated  with  Paris,  though  in  truth  I  was  scarcely 
acquainted  with  the  streets,  my  anxiety  to  visit  new 
scenes  was  greatly  abated.  I  found  those  I  had  hitherto 
beheld  not  only  fall  far  beneath  the  picture  I  had  drawn 
of  them  in  imagination,  but  also  beneath  those  I  had 
seen  in  Italy. 

It  was  in  London  then  that  I  was  at  length  taught 
to  know  and  appreciate  Naples,  Rome,  Venice,  and 
Florence. 

Before  departing  for  England,  our  ambassador  pro- 
posed to  present  me  at  the  court  of  Versailles.  An 
anxious  wish  to  see  a  court  generally  esteemed  superior 
in  splendor  to  any  other  induced  me  to  accept  his  pro- 
posal. The  1st  of  January,  1768,  was  the  day  fixed 
on  for  this  purpose.  I  had  been  informed  that  the  king 
never  deigned  to  address  any  but  the  most  celebrated 
foreigners ;  I  could  not,  however,  reconcile  myself  to 
the  haughty  and  unbending  mien  of  Louis  XV.  He 
received  with  a  cold  and  supercilious  air  those  who 
were  presented  to  him,  surveying  them  from  head  to 
foot.  It  seemed  as  if  on  presenting  a  dwarf  to  a  giant 
he  should  view  him  smiling,  or  perhaps  say,  ll  Ah ! 
the  little  animal ! "  or  if  he  remained  silent,  his  air  and 
manner  would  express  the  same  derision.  Such  con- 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  141 

tempt  soon  ceased,  however,  to  afflict  me,  when  a  few 
moments  afterward  I  observed  his  majesty  receive  other 
foreigners  of  much  higher  rank  than  myself  in  the  same 
manner.  After  a  short  prayer,  the  king  took  the  road 
to  the  chapel,  near  the  door  of  which  the  mayor  and 
municipality  of  Paris,  advancing,  stammered  out  the 
usual  compliments  of  the  season.  The  taciturn  mon- 
arch replied  by  a  slight  inclination  of  his  head,  and, 
turning  to  one  of  his  courtiers,  inquired  what  had  become 
of  the  sheriffs  who  usually  attended  the  mayor  on  such 
occasions,  when  a  voice  exclaimed  from  among  the 
crowd,  "They  have  stuck  fast  in  the  mud";  on  which 
all  the  court  laughed,  and  the  monarch  himself  even 
smiled. 

Such  is  the  unsteadiness  of  fortune,  that  nearly  twenty 
years  afterwards  I  beheld  another  Louis  receive  much 
more  graciously  a  very  different  compliment  made  to 
him  by  another  mayor  on  the  17th  of  July,  1789.  It 
was  then  the  courtiers  themselves  who  stuck  fast  in 
the  mud,  on  coming  from  Versailles  to  Paris.  Perhaps 
I  might  return  thanks  to  Heaven  for  having  been  an 
eyewitness  of  this  spectacle,  were  I  not  fully  convinced 
that  the  reign  of  le  peitple  souverain  will  ultimately 
prove  more  ruinous  to  France  and  to  the  world  at  large 
than  that  of  the  Capets. 


VI. 

I  LEFT  Paris  about  the  middle  of  January,  with  a 
countryman  of  my  own,  a  young  man  of  genius,  of  a 
prepossessing  figure,  and  who  was  considerably  older 
than  myself.  In  other  respects  he  was  equally  igso- 
rant  as  I,  still  less  given  to  reflection,  and  fonder  of 
mixing  in  society  than  to  study  and  observe  mankind. 


142  MEMOIRS   OF 

He  was  the  cousin  to  our  ambassador  at  Paris,  and 
nephew  of  Prince  Masserano,  Spanish  ambassador  at 
the  Court  of  London.  It  was  previously  settled  that 
we  should  take  up  our  residence  at  the  house  of  this 
nobleman.  I  was  not  over  partial  to  travelling  com- 
panions, but  as  we  were  both  going  to  one  place,  I 
readily  reconciled  myself  to  his  society. 

My  new  comrade  was  extremely  lively  and  loqua- 
cious ;  and  we  had  the  mutual  satisfaction,  I  of  listen- 
ing and  holding  my  tongue,  he  of  declaiming  and 
extolling  himself.  He  was  extremely  vain  of  his  per- 
son, having  been  a  great  favorite  with  the  ladies  ;  and 
he  recounted  with  a  grave  air  his  good  fortune,  which 
I  heard  without  the  smallest  envy.  During  the  even- 
ing when  we  went  to  inns,  while  waiting  supper  we 
usually  played  at  chess,  in  which  he  always  came  off 
conqueror,  for  I  never  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the 
game.  On  repairing  to  Calais,  we  took  the  road  by 
Lisle,  Douai,  and  St.  Omer.  The  cold  was  so  intense, 
that  one  night,  though  we  travelled  with  the  blinds 
up,  and  took  other  precautions,  both  our  bread  and 
wine  were  frozen.  I  rejoiced  at  this  excessive  cold, 
for  I  always  love  extremes. 

On  leaving  the  French  coast,  the  cold  became  much 
less  intense,  and  no  snow  fell  during  our  journey  from 
Dover  to  London.  England,  and  especially  the  me- 
tropolis, highly  delighted  me  at  first  sight.  The  roads, 
the  inns,  the  horses,  the  females,  the  absence  of  men- 
dicity, the  neatness  and  conveniency  of  the  houses,  the 
incessant  bustle  in  the  suburbs  as  well  as  in  the  capi- 
tal, all  conspired  to  fill  my  mind  with  delight.  In  my 
future  journeys  to  England  I  never  found  any  reason  to 
change  this  favorable  opinion. 

At  London  it  is  more  easy  to  procure  introductions 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  143 

to  the  houses  of  private  families  than  at  Paris.  Induced 
by  this  circumstance,  and  the  influence  of  my  travelling 
companion,  I  plunged  into  dissipation.  In  general  I 
am  little  solicitous  to  overcome  obstacles,  when  I  ex- 
pect no  benefit  to  result  from  it.  The  truly  paternal 
benevolence  of  Prince  de  Masserano  tended  greatly  to 
give  a  new  turn  to  my  character. 

This  worthy  old  man  was  much  attached  to  the 
Piedmontese,  being  a  native  of  Piedmont,  though  his 
father  had  afterwards  settled  in  Spain.  Perceiving,, 
after  a  residence  of  three  months,  that  I  made  no  prog- 
ress in  knowledge,  and  becoming  disgusted  with  as- 
semblies, balls,  and  routs,  I  determined  no  longer  to 
play  the  lord  in  the  drawing-room,  but  the  coachman 
at  the  gate. 

Much  to  his  delight,  I  frequently  drove  my  com- 
panion through  the  streets  of  London,  leaving  to  him 
all  the  glory  of  gallantry,  while  I  acquitted  myself  in 
my  new  character  of  coachman  with  so  much  skill  and 
address  that  even  in  the  collision  of  coach-poles,  so 
common  at  Ranelagh  and  other  places  of  public  amuse- 
ment, I  generally  came  off  with  honor,  and  without  my 
horses  suffering  the  least  injury.  My  amusements 
through  the  course  of  the  winter  consisted  in  being  on 
horseback  during  five  or  six  hours  every  morning,  and 
in  being  seated  on  the  coach-box  for  two  or  three  hours 
every  evening,  whatever  might  be  the  state  of  the 
weather.  During  the  month  of  April  my  companion 
and  I  travelled  through  some  of  the  richest  counties  of 
England.  In  this  excursion  we  visited  Portsmouth, 
Salisbury,  Bath,  Bristol,  and  returned  by  the  way  of 
Oxford  to  London.  The  country  then  so  much  en- 
chanted me  that  I  determined  to  settle  in  it,  not  that 
I  was  much  attached  to  any  individual,  but  because 


144  MEMOIRS   OF 

I  was  delighted  with  the  scenery,  the  simple  manners 
of  the  inhabitants,  the  modesty  and  heanty  of  the  wo- 
men, and  above  all  with  the  enjoyment  of  political 
liberty, —  all  which  made  me  overlook  its  mutable  cli- 
mate, the  melancholy  almost  inseparable  from  it,  and 
the  exorbitant  price  of  all  the  necessaries  of  life.  On 
returning  from  this  tour,  which  still  farther  augmented 
my  inclination  to  roam,  I  again  felt  myself  urged  by 
the  mania  of  travelling  to  visit  new  scenes  ;  it  gave  me 
much  pain,  therefore,  to  be  obliged  to  defer  my  voyage 
to  Holland  till  the  month  of  June.  I  embarked  at 
Harwich  for  Helvoetsluys,  which,  favored  by  a  fortu- 
nate breeze,  I  reached  in  twelve  hours. 

Holland  during  the  summer  season  exhibits  a  cheer- 
ful and  smiling  aspect,  but  it  would  have  pleased  me 
still  more  had  I  not  previously  visited  England  \  for, 
however  much  we  may  admire  its  population  and 
riches,  its  wise  laws,  the  industry  and  activity  of  its 
inhabitants,  yet  in  all  of  these  it  is  exceeded  by  Eng- 
land. In  fact,  after  much  travelling  and  observation, 
the  only  two  countries  of  Europe  in  which  I  have  uni- 
formly wished  to  fix  my  residence  are  England  and 
Italy;  because  in  the  former  art  has  everywhere 
changed  and  subjugated  nature,  and  because  in  the 
latter  nature  always  appears  predominant  and  in  its 
pristine  force  and  vigor. 

During  my  stay  at  the  Hague,  which  was  protracted 
beyond  what  I  had  intended,  I  fell  into  the  snares 
which  love  had  so  often  spread  in  vain  to  entrap  me. 
While  thus  assailed  with  the  shafts  of  love,  my  heart 
wras  not  insensible  to  the  soothing  influence  of  friend- 
ship. 

The  name  of  my  new  friend  was  Joseph  d'Acunha, 
the  Portuguese  envoy  at  the  Hague.  In  him  were  united 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  145 

to  much  originality  of  character  a  well-informed  mind 
and  great  elevation  of  sentiment.  A  mutual  tacitur- 
nity and  sympathy  of  character  insensibly  operated  to 
unite  us  in  the  bonds  of  friendship.  This  union  was 
still  farther  cemented  by  reciprocal  candor  and  frank- 
ness. The  excellent  advice  given  me  by  my  worthy 
friend  will  never  be  erased  from  my  memory.  He  it 
was  who  first  made  me  blush  at  my  indolent  and  ab- 
surd mode  of  life,  at  my  dislike  to  reading,  and  at  my 
utter  want  of  acquaintance  with  the  works  of  our  best 
authors  in  prose  and  verse,  as  well  as  with  the  produc- 
tions of  our  most  celebrated  philosophers.  He  men- 
tioned in  particular  the  immortal  Machiavel,  whom  I 
knew  only  by  name.  Biassed  by  the  prejudices  of  edu- 
cation, we  too  readily  give  credit  to  the  calumnies  propa- 
gated by  his  detractors,  who  have  frequently  neither 
read  nor  comprehended  him.  My  friend  D'Acunha 
presented  me  with  a  copy  of  his  works,  which  I  still 
preserve,  and  on  which  I  have  at  different  times  writ- 
ten marginal  notes.  What  seemed  to  me  then  very 
extraordinary  was  that  a  desire  for  study  never  took 
possession  of  my  mind,  nor  did  my  ideas  begin  to 
unfold  themselves,  till  I  became  occupied  with  the  pas- 
sion of  love.  This  passion  at  once  deprived  rne  of 
the  means  of  applying  myself,  and  stimulated  me  to 
proceed.  Never  did  I  find  myself  in  a  more  suitable 
state  for  the  composition  of  any  literary  work  than 
when  I  was  actuated  by  the  desire  of  presenting  my 
productions  to  her  who  inspired  me  with  this  omnipo- 
tent passion. 

My  happiness  in  Holland  was  not  of  long  duration. 
[The  family  of  the  lady  wrhom  Alfieri  adored  had  re- 
cently come  into  possession  of  a  large  estate  in  Swit- 
zerland, and,  apparently  to  separate  her  from  him,  she 


146  MEMOIRS   OF 

was  removed  to  this  place  for  the  approaching  autumn, 
which  was  then  near.]  As  she  could  not  assume  the 
resolution  to  inform  me  of  the  day  of  her  departure,  and 
as  I  equally  feared  myself  to  make  any  inquiry  respecting 
it,  the  intelligence  first  reached  me  through  my  friend 
D'Acunha,  who,  putting  a  small  billet  into  my  hands,  ac- 
quainted me  that  she  had  been  forced  to  quit  the  Hague. 
I  should  never  obtain  credit,  were  I  to  recount  all 
the  follies  I  committed  on  this  occasion.  While,  how- 
ever, I  absolutely  implored  death  1)  come  to  my  aid,  I 
said  not  a  word  to  any  one.  I  feigned  sickness  in 
order  to  induce  my  friend  to  leave  me  to  myself,  and 
called  in  a  surgeon,  who  took  away  some  blood  from 
my  arm.  No  sooner  had  he  quitted  my  chamber  than 
I  pretended  to  fall  asleep,  and,  closing  my  bed-curtains, 
mused  for  a  few  minutes  on  what  I  should  do.  I  then 
loosened  the  bandage  from  my  arm,  that  I  might  die 
by  loss  of  blood.  But  my  faithful  and  intelligent  Elias 
had  seen  my  frenzy,  and  been  instructed  before  his 
departure  to  watch  my  conduct  narrowly.  With  this 
view,  pretending  to  believe  that  I  had  called  him,  he 
approached  my  bedside,  and  suddenly  opened  the  cur- 
tains. Equally  surprised  and  abashed,  at  the  same 
time  perhaps  even  repenting  of  my  folly,  or  at  least  not 
fully  determined  in  iny  resolution,  I  told  him  that  the 
bandage  round  my  arm  had  become  loose.  Feigning 
to  believe  me,  he  immediately  replaced  it,  but  never 
again  left  me  to  myself.  As  soon  as  my  friend  was 
informed  by  him  of  my  situation,  he  visited  me  without 
delay,  and  forced  me  to  quit  iny  bed.  He  had  me  im- 
mediately conveyed  to  his  house,  where  I  continued 
several  days,  during  which  he  never  left  me  alone.  I 
became  dull  and  pensive,  but  whether  from  shame  or 
diffidence,  I  concealed  iny  inward  grief.  I  neither 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  147 

spoke  nor  wept.  The  influence  of  time,  however,  and 
the  sage  counsels  of  my  friend,  together  with  the  various 
amusements  in  which  he  compelled  me  to  participate, 
and  a  ray  of  hope  that  I  should  once  again  behold  the 
mistress  of  my  heart  on  her  return  to  Holland,  but 
above  all,  perhaps,  the  volatility  of  temper  natural  to 
nineteen,  tended  gradually  to  assuage  my  sorrow.  My 
mind  remained  long  a  prey  to  grief,  but  reason  at 
length  became  triumphant.  As  soon  as  the  anguish  of 
my  mind  began  to  abate,  though  it  still  rankled  in  my 
bosom,  I  formed  the  resolution  of  returning  to  Italy, 
finding  it  altogether  insupportable  to  remain  in  a  coun- 
try where  everything  tended  to  recall  to  my  mind  the 
transient  happiness  I  had  enjoyed.  I  found  it,  how- 
ever, extremely  difficult  to  tear  myself  from  my  new 
friend,  though  he  himself  urged  me  to  persevere  in  my 
resolution,  being  fully  persuaded  that  travelling  and 
new  objects,  distance  and  time,  would  eventually  oper- 
ate my  cure. 

I  left  Utrecht  about  the  middle  of  September,  and 
took  the  road  to  Brussels.  I  proceeded  through  Lor- 
raine, Alsace,  Switzerland,  and  Savoy,  without  stop- 
ping, unless  to  sleep.  On  my  arrival  in  Piedmont,  I 
directed  my  course  to  Cumiana,  my  sister's  country 
residence.  From  thence  I  went  to  Suza,  without 
passing  through  Turin,  as  I  wished  to  avoid  all  in- 
tercourse with  mankind,  for  I  perceived  that  to  my 
cure  retirement  was  absolutely  indispensable.  During 
this  journey,  of  all  the  cities  through  which  I  passed, 
as  Nancy,  Strasburg,  Basle,  and  Geneva,  I  beheld 
only  the  walls.  I  never  once  opened  my  mouth  to 
speak  to  my  faithful  Elias.  I  spoke  to  him  only  by 
signs  ;  while  he,  to  conform  himself  to  my  humor 
obeyed  me,  and  silently  anticipated  all  my  wants. 


148  MEMOIRS   OF 


VII. 

I  REMAINED  six  weeks  in  the  country  with  my 
sister,  and  afterwards  accompanied  her  on  her  return  to 
Turin.  From  my  great  increase  of  growth  during  the 
last  two  years  none  of  my  acquaintances  recognized 
me.  The  idle  and  roving  life  I  led  had  produced  the 
most  beneficial  effects  on  my  health.  On  passing 
through  Geneva  I  purchased  a  parcel  of  books,  among 
which  were  the  works  of  Rousseau,  Montesquieu,  Hel- 
vetius,  and  others.  Scarcely  had  I  returned  home, 
with  my  heart  filled  with  melancholy  and  love,  than  I 
perceived  the  necessity  of  occupying  my  mind  with 
some  species  of  study.  But  to  what  could  I  apply  it  ? 
A  neglected  education,  followed  by  six  years  of  dis- 
sipation and  total  idleness,  had  wholly  unfitted  me  for 
serious  application.  Being  undetermined  whether  to 
remain  at  home  or  recommence  my  travels,  I  domesti- 
cated myself  in  my  sister's  house  during  the  winter, 
wholly  relinquishing  society,  and  passing  my  days  in 
reading  and  walking.  I  perused  only  French  works, 
and  among  others  began  the  Heloise  of  Rousseau 
several  times  ;  but,  though  possessing  very  warm  and 
ardent  feelings,  I  found  it  so  much  labored,  and 
abounding  with  an  affectation  of  sentiment  foreign  to 
the  heart,  that  I  could  never  finish  the  first  volume. 
I  did  not  understand  the  political  works  of  this  author, 
and  left  them  behind  me.  The  prose  works  of  Voltaire 
gave  me  the  greatest  pleasure,  but  his  poetry  did  not 
suit  my  taste.  I  never  read  the  whole  of  the  Hen- 
riade,  and  only  a  few  detached  passages  of  his  Pucelle, 
as  everything  that  is  obscene  fills  me  with  disgust. 
Some  of  his  tragedies  I  also  perused  about  the  same 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  149 

time.  Montesquieu  I  read  twice  from  beginning  to  end 
with  a  mingled  sentiment  of  pleasure  and  surprise,  and 
perhaps  also  with  some  profit.  L'Esprit  d'Helvetius 
left  a  profound  but  disagreeable  impression  on  my 
mind;  but  the  book  of  all  others  which  gave  me  the 
most  delight,  and  beguiled  many  of  the  tedious  hours  of 
winter,  was  Plutarch.  I  perused  five  or  six  times  the 
lives  of  Timoleon,  Caesar,  Brutus,  Pelopidas,  and 
some  others.  I  wept,  raved,  and  fell  into  such  a 
transport  of  fury,  that  if  any  one  had  been  in  the 
adjoining  chamber  they  must  have  pronounced  me  out 
of  my  senses.  Every  time  that  I  came  to  any  of  the 
great  actions  of  these  celebrated  individuals,  my  agita- 
tion was  so  extreme  that  I  could  not  remain  "seated.  I 
was  like  one  beside  himself,  and  shed  tears  of  mingled 
grief  and  rage  at  having  been  born  at  Piedmont,  and 
at  a  period  and  under  a  government  where  it  was  im- 
possible to  conceive  or  execute  any  great  design. 

During  this  winter  I  studied  with  the  greatest  ardor 
the  planetary  system,  and  the  laws  which  regulate  the 
celestial  bodies.  I  pushed  my  studies  as  far  as  it  was 
possible  without  the  aid  of  geometry,  with  which  I 
was  wholly  unacquainted,  or  in  other  words,  I  found 
myself  incompetent  to  master  the  historical  part  of 
astronomy,  which  is  purely  mathematical.  Notwith- 
standing my  gross  ignorance  in  this  respect,  I  compre- 
hended enough  of  this  divine  science  to  elevate  my 
mind  to  the  immensity  of  the  universe.  No  study 
could  have  been  better  calculated  than  this  to  occupy 
and  soothe  my  mind  if  I  had  possessed  the  necessary 
knowledge  to  prosecute  it.  While  engaged  in  this 
praiseworthy  pursuit,  which,  however,  increased  my 
taciturnity,  and  augmented  my  melancholy  and  dis- 
gust for  every  common  amusement,  I  was  unceasingly 


150  MEMOIRS   OF 

importuned  by  my  brother-in-law  to  enter  into  the 
married  state.  I  was  naturally  attached  to  a  domestic 
life ;  but  after  having  visited  England  at  nineteen,  and 
read  Plutarch  with  the  greatest  interest  at  twenty  years 
of  age,  I  experienced  the  most  insufferable  repugnance 
at  marrying  and  having  rny  children  born  at  Turin. 
With  a  fickleness,  however,. natural  to  my  years,  I  at 
length  consented  that  my  brother-in-law  should  ne- 
gotiate a  marriage  for  me  with  the  rich  young  heiress 
of  a  respectable  family.  This  lady  was  rather  hand- 
some, and  her  black  eyes  would  doubtless  have  made 
me  forget  Plutarch,  in  like  manner  as  Plutarch  had 
diminished  my  attachment  to  the  fair  Hollander.  I 
must  here  avow  to  my  shame  that  at  this  period  I  was 
more  influenced  by  a  desire  for  riches  than  beauty.  I 
calculated  that  by  this  union  my  fortune  would  receive  a 
great  augmentation,  and  that  I  should  be  thus  enabled 
to  cut,  as  the  world  terms  it,  a  brilliant  figure  ;  but  my 
happy  destiny  overruled  my  weak  judgment. 

The  lady,  after  evincing  a  marked  predilection  for 
me,  was  deterred  from  her  purpose  by  one  of  her  aunts, 
who  favored  the  addresses  of  a  young  gentleman,  whose 
family  was  indeed  less  affluent  than  my  own,  but  who 
had  a  number  of  rich  relatives,  and,  besides,  stood  in 
high  favor  at  court.  He  had  been  one  of  the  pages  to 
the  Duke  of  Savoy,  the  presumptive  heir  to  the  crown, 
who  afterwards  conferred  on  him  many  benefits.  He 
displayed  mild  and  agreeable  manners,  and  possessed 
an  excellent  character,  while  I,  on  the  contrary,  was 
regarded  as  a  singular  being,  who  did  not  bend  his 
judgment  to  the  slavish  opinions  of  the  age,  and  who, 
instead  of  concealing  his  sentiments,  openly  ridiculed 
the  usages  and  customs  of  his  country;  an  offence 
never  to  be  forgiven.  Hence  my  rival  obtained  the 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  151 

preference.  This  choice  was  extremely  fortunate  for 
the  young  lady,  as  she  led  a  happy  life  with  the  family 
into  which  she  entered.  It  was  equally  fortunate  for 
me,  since,  had  I  burdened  myself  with  a  wife  and 
family,  I  must  have  taken  an  everlasting  farewell  of 
the  Muses.  This  refusal  was  at  once  a  subject  of  pain 
and  consolation  to  me.  While  the  affair  was  in  agita- 
tion I  frequently  felt  regret,  and  a  kind  of  shame  I 
durst  not  avow.  I  blushed  at  the  consciousness  of 
being  influenced  in  this  instance  by  the  consideration 
of  riches,  and  of  acting  in  opposition  to  my  usual  way 
of  thinking ;  but  one  act  of  weakness  produces  a  second, 
which  in  like  manner  brings  others  in  its  train.  One 
of  the  motives  for  this  absurd  cupidity  was  the  project 
I  had  formed,  during  my  stay  at  Naples,  of  devoting 
myself  to  the  diplomatic  line,  to  succeed  in  which  I 
deemed  the  possession  of  wealth  indispensable.  In 
this  design  I  was  still  farther  encouraged  to  proceed 
by  the  advice  of  my  brother-in-law,  an  old  courtier. 
Happily  on  my  failure  in  this  matrimonial  union  I  re- 
signed every  idea  of  entering  into  the  diplomatic  corps. 
I  never  solicited  any  official  situation,  and  thank  Heaven 
my  foolish  project  was  never  communicated  to  any  one 
but  my  brother-in-law. 

Foiled  in  my  two  projects,  I  resolved  to  continue  my 
travels.  I  had  settled  all  pecuniary  concerns  with  my 
guardian,  from  whose  power  I  immediately  emancipated 
myself  on  attaining  my  twenty-first  year.  Being  now 
fully  acquainted  with  the  state  of  my  own  affairs,  I 
found  myself  much  more  at  ease  than  my  guardian 
would  have  made  me  believe.  In  this  respect  he 
rendered  me  an  essential  service,  by  accustoming  me 
to  regulate  and  restrain  my  wants;  it  also  imbued  my 
mind  with  a  love  of  order  and  regularity  from  which 


152  MEMOIRS   OF 

I  have  never  deviated.  Finding  myself  in  possession 
of  a  yearly  income  of  2,500  sequins,  besides  a  large 
sum  of  ready  money  accumulated  during  the  period  of 
my  minority,  I  deemed  myself  sufficiently  rich  for  a 
bachelor,  especially  in  my  country.  Having  therefore 
abandoned  every  idea  of  augmenting  my  fortune,  I 
prepared  for  the  recommencement  of  my  travels  on  a 
more  liberal  scale  of  expense  than  formerly. 

vnr. 

AFTER  having  obtained  the  necessary  permission 
from  the  king,  I  departed  for  Vienna  in  the  montn  of 
May,  1769.  I  left  to  my  faithful  Elias  the  trouble  of 
regulating  our  expenses,  and  began  seriously  to  reflect 
on  men  and  manners.  To  the  chagrin,  indolence,  and 
a  physical  desire  for  change,  which  actuated  me  during 
my  first  travels,  had  now  succeeded  a  certain  pleasing 
melancholy  which  led  to  reflection.  This  partly  re- 
sulted from  the  influence  of  love,  and  partly  from  the 
works  I  had  perused  during  the  last  six  months.  The 
essays  of  Montaigne  proved  to  me  of  the  greatest  utility; 
and  it  is  to  them  perhaps  that  I  owe  the  little  capa- 
bility of  thinking  which  I  possessed  at  an  after  period 
of  my  life.  This  work  in  ten  small  volumes  became 
my  constant  travelling  companion ;  and  I  derived  from 
it  both  instruction  and  pleasure.  It  flattered  even  my 
ignorance  and  idleness,  because  I  opened  by  chance  any 
volume,  and  after  reading  a  page  or  two  again  closed 
it,  and  passed  whole  hours  in  reflecting  on  what  I  had 
read.  I  was  also  ashamed  to  meet  Latin  quotations 
both  in  prose  and  verse  in  almost  every  page,  which  I 
could  not  understand  without  having  recourse  to  the 
translations  in  the  notes,  which  I  was  foolish  enough 


VITTORIO  ALFIERI.  153 

to  do,  without  even  an  attempt  to  understand  the 
original ;  hut  what  was  still  worse,  I  skipped  over 
the  extracts  from  our  most  celebrated  Italian  poets 
without  an  effort  to  comprehend  them.  Hence  it  may 
be  easily  conceived  how  great  was  my  ignorance,  and 
that  it  became  every  day  more  difficult  for  me  to  ex- 
press myself  in  our  divine  language. 

I  arrived  at  Vienna  by  the  way  of  Milan  and  Venice, 
two  cities  which  I  had  a  strong  desire  to  revisit,  after 
which  I  proceeded  to  Trent,  Inuspruck,  Augsburg,  and 
Munich,  where  I  stopped  only  a  short  time.  I  found 
Vienna  nearly  as  small  as  Turin,  without  being  so  ad- 
vantageously situated.  Here  I  remained  during  all  the 
summer  in  a  state  of  complete  idleness.  In  July  I  set 
out  on.  an  excursion  as  far  as  Buda,  in  order  to  view 
part  of  Hungary.  Having  again  become  extremely 
idle,  I  fled  to  company  as  a  relief,  taking  care,  however, 
to  secure  my  heart  against  the  approaches  of  love.  I 
might  easily,  during  my  stay  at  Vienna,  have  been 
introduced  to  the  celebrated  poet  Metastasio,  at  whose 
house  our  minister,  the  old  and  respectable  Count 
Canale,  passed  his  evenings  in  a  select  company  of 
men  of  letters,  whose  chief  amusement  consisted  in 
reading  portions  from  the  Greek,  Latin,  and  Italian 
classics.  Having  taken  an  affection  for  me,  he  wished, 
out  of  pity  to  my  idleness,  to  conduct  me  thither.  But 
I  declined  accompanying  him,  either  from  my  usual 
awkwardness,  or  from  the  contempt  which  the  con- 
stant habit  of  reading  French  works  had  given  me  for 
Italian  productions.  Hence  I  concludod  that  this  as- 
semblage of  men  of  letters  with  their  classics  could  be 
only  a  dismal  company  of  pedants.  Besides,  I  had 
seen  Metastasio,  in  the  gardens  of  Schoenbrunn,  per- 
form the  customary  genuflection  to  Maria  Theresa  in 


154  MEMOIRS   OF 

such  a  servile  and  adulatory  manner,  that  I,  who  had 
my  head  stuffed  with  Plutarch,  and  who  embellished 
every  theory,  could  not  think  of  binding  myself,  either 
by  the  ties  of  familiarity  or  friendship,  with  a  poet  who 
had  sold  himself  to  a  despotism  which  I  so  cordially 
detested.  My  rude  and  eccentric  notions  uniting  them- 
selves to  the  passions  of  twenty,  rendered  my  character 
altogether  original,  and  even  ridiculous. 

In  the  month  of  September  I  continued  my  journey 
through  Prague  and  Dresden,  where  I  remained  a 
month.  From  thence  I  went  to  Berlin,  and  in  this 
city  took  up  my  abode  for  an  equal  length  of  time. 
On  entering  the  states  of  the  great  Frederick,  which 
appeared  to  me  like  a  vast  guard-house,  my  horror 
against  this  man  of  blood  redoubled.  On  being  pre- 
sented to  his  majesty,  I  experienced  not  the  slightest 
emotion  either  of  surprise  or  respect ;  but  on  the  con- 
trary, a  rising  feeling  of  indignation,  which  became 
daily  strengthened  in  my  mind  on  beholding  oppression 
and  despotism  assuming  the  mask  of  virtue.  Count 
de  Finch,  who  introduced  me  to  the  royal  presence, 
inquired  why,  as  I  was  in  the  service  of  my  sovereign, 
I  did  not  wear  my  uniform,  to  which  I  replied,  I  thought 
the  court  was  already  sufficiently  crowded  with  uniforms. 
The  king  addressed  to  me  the  few  words  customary  on 
such  occasions.  I  regarded  him  with  the  greatest  atten- 
tion, fixing  my  eyes  respectfully  on  his,  while  I  mentally 
thanked  Heaven  I  was  not  born  his  slave.  Towards 
the  middle  of  November  I  departed  from  this  Prussian 
encampment,  which  I  regarded  with  detestation  and 
horror. 

After  remaining  three  days  at  Hamburg  I  proceeded 
to  Denmark,  and  reached  Copenhagen  in  the  beginning 
of  December.  This  country  was  not  only  agreeable  to 


VITTOJIIO   ALFIERI.  155 

me  from  its  resemblance  to  Holland,  but  from  a  certain 
air  of  activity,  commerce,  and  industry,  which  is  never 
to  be  found  under  an  absolute  monarchy.  In  fact,  the 
general  welfare  and  prosperity  of  any  country  affords 
the  best  eulogium  on  its  government.  None  of  the 
elements,  however,  of  social  happiness  is  to  be  found  in 
the  states  of  Frederick  the  Great,  though  he  commands 
letters,  arts,  and  industry  to  flourish  under  his  protec- 
tion. I  preferred  Copenhagen  and  Denmark,  because 
they  differed  from  Berlin  and  Prussia  ;  a  country  which 
of  all  others  left  the  most  painful  and  disagreeable  im- 
pression on  my  mind,  though  I  beheld  in  it,  especially 
in  the  capital,  many  architectural  and  other  objects 
worthy  of  attention ;  but  even  at  present,  after  the 
lapse  of  so  many  years,  I  cannot  recall  the  idea  of  this 
nation  of  soldiers  without  experiencing  the  same  indig- 
nation I  felt  on  first  entering  it. 

During  the  winter  I  began  to  stammer  the  Italian 
with  Count  Catanti,  the  Neapolitan  envoy  at  the 
Danish  court.  The  count  was  brother-in-law  to  the 
celebrated  prime  minister  of  Naples,  Marquis  Tanucci, 
formerly  a  professor  in  the  University  of  Pisa.  I  be- 
came better  pleased  with  the  Tuscan  language  and 
pronunciation  on  comparing  it  with  the  hissing,  nasal, 
and  guttural  sound  of  the  Danish,  to  which  I  was 
daily  compelled  to  listen,  happily,  however,  without  un- 
derstanding it.  Though  greatly  deficient  in  point  of 
elegance  and  precision,  a  merit  which  the  natives  of 
Tuscany  possess  in  an  eminent  degree,  rny  pronuncia- 
tion of  the  Italian  was  nevertheless  pure  and  perfectly 
Tuscan.  .  As  my  ears  were  wounded  by  any  deviation 
in  this  respect,  I  had  accustomed  myself  to  pronounce 
as  well  as  possible  the  u,  z,  gi,  ci,  and  other  Tuscan- 
isms.  Count  Catanti  urged  me  no  longer  to  neglect 


156  MEMOIRS   OF 

this  beautiful  language,  and  I  was  the  more  inclined  to 
profit  hy  his  advice,  as  no  consideration  would  have 
induced  me  to  pass  for  a  native  of  France.  I  began 
then  to  read  Italian  works,  and  among  others  the 
Dialogues  of  Aretino,  which  disgusted  me  by  their 
obscenity,  though  I  was  charmed  with  the  copiousness 
and  elegance  of  the  diction.  I  perused  for  the  third 
and  fourth  time  my  favorite  Plutarch,  without,  however, 
relinquishing  Montaigne,  so  that  my  head  was  at  once 
tilled  with  a  medley  of  philosophy,  politics,  and  liber- 
tinism. When  my  health  permitted  me  to  go  abroad, 
my  greatest  amusement  in  this  northern  climate  was 
driving  avsledge  with  inconceivable  velocity;  an  exer- 
cise which  soothed  and  gratified  my  ardent  imagina- 
tion. 

Towards  the  end  of  March  I  set  out  for  Sweden, 
though  the  Sound  was  not  frozen,  and  Scania  not  yet 
covered  with  snow.  As  soon  as  I  had  passed  the 
village  of  Norkoping,  I  found  the  winter  set  in  anew 
with  great  rigor.  From  the  heaps  of  snow,  and  from 
the  accumulation  of  ice  in  the  lakes,  I  was  obliged  to 
relinquish  my  carriage,  and  pursue  the  remainder  of 
my  journey  to  Stockholm  in  sledges.  The  novelty  of 
this  spectacle,  the  majestic  and  wild  aspect  of  the  im- 
mense forests,  lakes,  and  precipices,  filled  my  mind 
with  wonder  and  delight.  Though  I  had  never  read 
Ossian,  yet  I  perceived  many  of  those  rural  images 
rising  in  my  mind  which  I  afterwards  discovered  in  the 
beautiful  verses  of  our  celebrated  Cesarotti. 

I  was  much  pleased  not  only  with  the  aspect  of  Sweden, 
but  with  the  manners  of  all  classes  of  the  inhabitants, 
either  because  I  loved  extremes,  or  for  reasons  which  I 
am  unable  to  explain.  The  mixed  form  of  the  Swedish 
government,  through  which  appear  some  dawnings  of 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  157 

liberty,  induced  me  to  enter  upon  the  study  of  it ;  but 
utterly  incapable  of  serious  and  continued  application, 
I  could  not  persevere  sufficiently  to  render  myself  mas- 
ter of  the  subject.  I  understood  enough,  however,  to 
perceive  that  the  poverty  of  the  four  classes  who  possess 
the  right  of  voting,  and  the  extreme  corruption  of  the 
nobles  and  citizens  who  were  influenced  by  the  gold  of 
France  or  Russia,  rendered  it  impossible  that  any  con- 
cord could  subsist  among  the  different  orders  of  the 
state,  and  annihilated  every  idea  of  just  and. rational 
liberty.  I  continued  to  amuse  myself  with  making  ex- 
cursions in  their  sledges  into  the  gloomy  forests,  and 
immense  frozen  lakes,  till  the  20th  of  April,  at  which 
period  the  thaw  was  so  instantaneous,  from  the  influ- 
ence of  the  sun  and  the  wind  from  the  sea,  that  in  four 
days  scarce  a  vestige  remained  of  the  accumulated 
snows  of  winter.  These  were  succeeded  by  the  most 
beautiful  verdure,  which  produced  a  surprising  and 
truly  romantic  effect. 

IX. 

MY  restless  temper  induced  me  to  quit  Stockholm, 
though  I  was  highly  pleased  with  it,  about  the  middle 
of  May,  in  order  to  pursue  my  route  through  Finland 
to  Petersburg.  I  made  an  excursion  as  far  as  the  cel- 
ebrated University  of  Upsala,  and  in  my  progress  visited 
different  iron-mines ;  but  as  I  neither  examined  with 
sufficient  attention  the  curiosities  they  contained,  nor 
took  notes  of  what  I  saw,  I  must  be  silent  on  this  head. 
When  I  reached  Grisselham,  a  small  port  in  Sweden, 
situated  on  its  eastern  coast,  opposite  the  Gulf  of  Both- 
nia, winter,  which  I  seemed  as  it  were  to  pursue,  had 
already  commenced.  The  sea  was  already  in  a  great 


158  MEMOIRS   OF 

measure  frozen,  and  the  passage  to  the  first  of  the  five 
small  islands,  lying  at  the  entrance  of  the  gulf,  was 
rendered  impassable  for  small  craft  of  every  kind.  No 
alternative  was  therefore  left  us  but  to  remain  three 
days  in  this  dreary  abode,  till  fresh  breezes  should  spring 
up,  and  dissolve  the  thick  crust  of  ice,  which  separated 
with  great  noise,  forming  large  floating  masses,  be- 
tween which  a  boat  might  have  passed,  had  we  not 
dreaded  the  danger  of  being  driven  against  them.  On 
the  following  day  a  fisherman  arrived  at  Grisselham, 
in  a  small  boat,  from  the  first  island  where  we  were  to 
land.  He  agreed  to  conduct  us  if  we  were  inclined  to 
encounter  the  risk.  I  immediately  consented  to  this 
proposal.  I  had  procured  a  larger  boat  than  his  for  the 
convenience  of  my  carriage ;  but  this,  while  it  aug- 
mented the  difficulty,  diminished  the  danger,  because 
it  was  better  able  to  withstand  any  shock  it  might 
receive  from  the  huge  masses  of  floating  ice.  It  hap- 
pened as  I  had  foreseen.  These  little  ice  islands, 
floating  on  the  surface  of  the  sea,  caused  it  to  resemble 
a  piece  of  ground  hollowed  out  and  cleft  on  all  sides. 
As  the  wind  was  extremely  feeble,  the  shocks  which 
my  little  bark  received  from  the  masses  of  ice  did  not 
in  the  least  injure  it.  However,  as  they  floated  round 
us  on  every  side,  and  accumulated  before  the  prow  of 
the  vessel,  threatening  every  instant  to  drive  us  back 
to  the  mainland,  it  became  necessary  to  have  recourse 
to  the  hatchet.  Oftener  than  once  were  the  sailors 
and  I  forced  to  get  upon  these  floating  islands  to  break 
arid  detach  them  from  the  sides  of  the  vessel,  in  order 
to  give  passage  to  the  prow,  and  to  enable  us  to  act 
with  our  oars.  Though  the  passage  between  the  con- 
tinent and  the  first  island  did  not  exceed  seven  Swedish 
miles,  it  took  us  ten  hours  to  accomplish  it.  This  sea- 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  159 

adventure  amused  me  highly,  though  perhaps  such 
details  may  not  prove  equally  gratifying  to  my  read- 
ers; but,  let  it  be  remembered,  I  address  them  to 
Italians,  who  are  not  accustomed  to  such  spectacles. 
Our  course  to  the  other  islands  being  shorter,  and  less 
encumbered  with  ice,  was  much  more  readily  effected. 
The  contemplation  of  this  sterile  and  savage  country, 
together  with  the  profound  and  unbroken  stillness  of 
the  atmosphere,  served  to  excite  in  my  mind  ideas  at 
once  sublime  and  melancholy. 

I  at  length  landed  at  Abo,  the  capital  of  Swedish 
Finland,  and  pursued  my  journey  through  excellent 
roads,  and  with  good  horses,  to  Petersburg,  where  I 
arrived  near  the  end  of  May.  I  cannot  even  tell 
whether  this  was  by  day  or  night,  for  in  such  a  north- 
ern climate  there  is  scarcely  any  night  at  that  season 
of  the  year.  I  felt  so  much  exhausted  by  never  leaving 
my  carriage  for  several  nights  successively,  my  head 
was  so  confused,  and  I  was  moreover  so  wearied  with 
the  perpetual  light,  that  I  knew  neither  the  day  of  the 
week  nor  the  hour  of  the  day  on  which  I  arrived;  I 
scarcely  even  knew  what  part  of  the  globe  I  was  in, 
inasmuch  as  the  manners,  the  dress,  and  long  beards  of 
the  Muscovites  induced  me  rather  to  believe  that  I  was 
in  Tartary  than  in  Europe. 

I  had  read  the  history  of  Peter  the  Great  by  Voltaire, — 
a  work  which  I  obtained  at  the  Academy  of  Turin  from 
the  Russian  students,  whose  nation  was  much  spoken 
of  at  this  time  as  having  lately  emerged  from  barbarism. 
My  imagination,  which  had  never  yet  failed  to  magnify 
everything,  left  me  on  the  present  occasion  as  usual 
the  regret  of  being  deceived.  Hence  I  approached 
Petersburg  with  a  mind  wound  up  to  an  extraordinary 
pitch  of  anxiety  and  expectation.  But  alas  !  no  sooner 


1GO  MEMOIRS   OF 

had  I  reached  this  Asiatic  assemblage  of  wooden  huts, 
than  Rome,  Genoa,  Venice,  and  Florence  rose  to  my 
recollection,  and  I  could  not  refrain  from  laughing. 
What  I  afterwards  saw  of  this  country  tended  still 
more  strongly  to  confirm  my  first  impression  that  it 
merited  not  to  he  seen.  Everything,  except  their 
beards  and  their  horses,  disgusted  me  so  much,  that 
during  six  weeks  I  remained  among  these  savages  I 
wished  not  to  become  acquainted  with  any  one,  nor 
even  to  see  the  two  or  three  youths  with  whom  I  had 
associated  at  Turin,  and  wTho  were  descended  from  the 
first  families  of  the  country.  I  took  no  measure  to  be 
presented 'to  the  celebrated  Autocratrix  Catherine  II., 
nor  did  I  even  behold  the  countenance  of  a  sovereign 
who  in  our  days  has  outstripped  fame.  On  investi- 
gating at  a  future  period  the  reason  of  such  extraor- 
dinary conduct,  I  became  convinced  that  it  proceeded 
from  a  certain  intolerance  of  character  and  a  hatred  to 
every  species  of  tyranny,  and  which  in  this  particular 
instance  attached  itself  to  a  person  suspected  of  the 
most  horrible  crime,  —  the  murder  of  a  defenceless 
husband.  I  have  frequently  heard  it  alleged  by  the 
defenders  of  Catherine  that  she  had  no  other  object,  in 
assuming  the  reins  of  government,  than  to  repair  the 
evils  committed  by  her  husband,  to  give  a  constitution 
to  the  country,  and  to  restore  the  Russians  at  least  in 
part  to  the  rights  of  which  they  had  been  deprived  by 
slavery.  I  beheld  them,  however,  groaning  beneath 
the  despotic  yoke  of  this  philosophic  Clytemnestra. 
Indignant  at  what  I  saw,  I  declined  going  to  Moscow, 
as  had  been  my  original  intention,  and  I  ardently 
longed  to  return  to  Europe.  With  this  view  I  set  out 
towards  the  close  of  June,  and  passed  through  Riga 
and  Revel.  The  monotonous  appearance  of  the  barren 


VITTORIO  ALFIEKL  161 

and  sandy  plains  I  traversed  more  than  overbalanced 
the  pleasure  I  had  received  from  the  view  of  the  im- 
mense and  magnificent  forests  of  Sweden.  I  pursued 
iny  journey  by  Konigsberg  and  Dantzic.  This  last 
city,  which  had  heretofore  enjoyed  opulence  and  free- 
dom, began  to  experience,  about  this  time,  the  despotic 
sway  of  the  King  of  Prussia,  who  had  taken  possession 
of  it  with  his  troops.  Thus,  while  filled  with  hatred 
against  the  Russians  and  Prussians,  I  at  length  arrived 
the  second  time  at  Berlin,  after  a  month's  journey, 
which  to  me  proved  the  most  tedious,  vexatious,  and 
harassing  of  any  I  had  ever  undertaken,  being  every- 
where forced  during  my  route  to  make  known  my 
name,  age,  rank,  and  the  object  of  my  travels,  all 
which  a  sentinel  demands  of  you  on  entering,  travers- 
ing, and  leaving  every  little  village ;  in  short,  this  of 
all  the  journeys  I  ever  performed  was  the  most  gloomy 
and  sorrowful.  I  visited  Zorndorif,  a  spot  rendered 
famous  by  the  sanguinary  battle  fought  between  the 
Russians  and  Prussians,  where  thousands  of  men  on 
both  sides  were  immolated  on  the  altar  of  despotism, 
and  thus  escaped  from  the  galling  yoke  which  op- 
pressed them.  The  place  of  their  interment  was  easily 
recognized  by  its  greater  verdure,  and  by  yielding  more 
abundant  crops  than  the  barren  and  unproductive  soil 
in  its  immediate  vicinity.  On  this  occasion  I  reflected 
with  sorrow  that  slaves  seem  everywhere  only  born  to 
fertilize  the  soil  on  which  they  vegetate. 

My  exhausted  strength  forced  me  to  stop  three  days 
at  Berlin.  Towards  the  end  of  July  I  again  set  out, 
and  in  my  progress  passed  through  Magdeburg,  Bruns- 
wick, Grottingen,  Cassel,  and  Frankfort.  On  entering 
Gottingen,  so  justly  renowned  for  its  university,  I  met 
with  a  beautiful  little  ass,  which  I  treated  with  the 


1G2  MEMOIRS   OF 

most  sumptuous  fare  in  my  power,  not  having  seen 
one  for  the  last  twelve  months,  as  these  animals  are 
neither  bred  nor  thrive  in  the  North.  This  encounter 
between  an  Italian  and  German  ass  in  so  celebrated  a 
university  would  have  inspired  me  to  write  the  most 
ludicrous  and  laughable  verses,  had  my  abilities  cor- 
responded with  my  inclination.  But  my  incapacity  fr.r 
writing  progressively  augmented :  I  contented  myself 
with  musing  on  this  subject,  and  spent  a  happy  day 
wholly  absorbed  in  thinking  on  my  ass.  These  hal- 
cyon days  seldom  occurred  with  me,  as  I  lived  in  the 
greatest  retirement,  without  any  occupation,  without 
ever  looking  into  a  book  or  opening  my  mouth. 

From  Frankfort  I  proceeded  to  Mentz,  where  I  em- 
barked on  the  Rhine,  and  descended  that  beautiful  river 
as  far  as  Cologne,  experiencing  during  my  passage  the 
greatest  pleasure  from  the  view  of  its  verdant  and  lux- 
uriant banks.  From  Cologne,  I  returned  by  the  way 
of  Aix-la-Chapelle  to  Spa,  at  which  place  I  had  spent 
several  wreeks  two  years  before,  and  which  I  always 
washed  to  revisit.  The  manners  of  the  inhabitants 
were  exactly  conformable  to  my  taste,  because  I  could 
remain  wholly  unknown  amidst  incessant  festivity  and 
bustle.  I  felt  myself  so  much  at  my  ease,  that  I  pro- 
longed my  stay  from  the  middle  of  August  to  the  end 
of  September,  —  along  period  for  one  of  my  restless 
disposition.  Here  I  purchased  two  Irish  horses ;  one 
of  them  was  a  noble  animal,  and  I  became  very  fond 
of  it.  I  rode  out  every  day,  dined  at  an  ordinary,  and 
went  every  evening  to  witness  the  performance  of  some 
young  and  beautiful  female  dancers.  It  was  thus  that 
I  spent,  or  more  properly,  mis-spent  my  time.  As  the 
bathing  season  was  nearly  over,  and  as  most  of  the 
company  had  already  left  Spa,  I  set  out  for  Holland, 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  163 

where  I  expected  to  see  my  friend,  D'Acunha.  It  was 
but  too  true  that  the  lady  whom  I  had  so  passionately 
loved  was  no  longer  at  the  Hague,  having  quitted  that 
city  in  order  to  reside  with  her  family  at  Paris.  Not 
wishing  to  separate  from  my  horses,  I  sent  my  domestic 
Elias  on  before  with  the  carriage,  while  I,  walking  and 
riding  alternately,  took  the  road  to  Liege.  In  this  city 
I  found  an  old  acquaintance,  a  French  envoy.  I  com- 
plied with  his  wish  to  introduce  me  to  the  Prince 
Bishop,  not  so  much  through  complaisance  as  the  ec- 
centricity of  my  character.  Having  never  seen  the 
court  of  the  Empress  Catherine,  I  was  anxious  to  view 
that  of  the  Prince  of  Liege.  During  my  stay  at  Spa 
I  had  been  introduced  to  a  yet  more  petty  ecclesiastical 
prince,  the  Abbe  of  Stavelo,  in  the  Ardennes.  In  pass- 
ing through  his  bishopric,  the  same  French  envoy  con- 
ducted me  to  his  residence,  where  we  partook  of  an 
excellent  dinner.  From  Liege  I  proceeded  with  my 
favorite  horses  by  Brussels  and  Antwerp,  and  crossing 
the  Mordyke,  pursued  my  journey  through  Rotterdam 
to  the  Hague.  My  friend,  with  whom  I  had  kept  up 
a  regular  correspondence,  received  me  with  open  arms, 
and,  finding  me  less  foolish  than  formerly,  endeavored 
by  the  most  wise  and  benevolent  counsels  to  impress  on 
my  mind  the  propriety  of  persevering  in  the  road  to  im- 
provement. I  remained  with  him  nearly  two  months, 
but  as  the  season  was  already  far  advanced,  and  as  I 
anxiously  wished  to  revisit  England,  we  bade  each 
other  adieu  towards  the  termination  of  November.  I 
pursued  the  same  route  as  in  my  former  journey,  and 
arriving  happily  at  Harwich  I  reached  London  in  a  few 
days.  I  found  all  the  friends  with  whom  I  had  for- 
merly associated  at  the  time  of  my  first  visit,  particu- 
larly Prince  Masserano,  the  Spanish  ambassador,  and 


164  MEMOIRS   OF 

the  Marquis  Caraccioli,  the  Neapolitan  minister,  a  man 
possessing  much  sagacity  and  of  a  lively  character. 
They  both  treated  me  with  parental  kindness  during 
my  stay  in  that  capital,  where  I  found  myself  in  very 
difficult  and  perplexing  circumstances. 


X. 

ON  my  first  visit  to  London,  I  became  deeply  enam- 
ored of  a  lady  of  high  rank.  It  was  perhaps  her 
image,  unconsciously  engraven  on  my  mind,  that  had 
not  a  little  contributed  to  render  the  country  delightful 
in  my  eyes,  and  to  induce  me  to  revisit  it.  Though 
the  lady  in  question  appeared  not  unfavorable  to  my 
suit,  yet  my  repulsive  and  boorish  character  preserved 
me  from  her  chains.  Having  become  somewhat  more 
civilized  on  my  return,  and  being  of  an  age  more  sus- 
ceptible of  a  violent  attachment,  while  forgetting  what 
I  had  suffered  at  the  Hague  from  the  dominion  of  this 
passion,  I  fell  desperately  in  love.  My  feelings  were 
so  vehement  and  outrageous,  that  even  now,  when 
entering  on  my  ninth  lustrum,  I  shudder  at  the  recollec- 
tion. I  had  frequent  opportunities  of  seeing  the  mis- 
tress of  my  heart  at  the  house  of  Prince  Masserano, 
whose  lady  shared  with  her  a  box  at  the  opera.  I  never 
saw  her  at  her  own  house,  because  the  English  ladies 
were  not  then  accustomed  to  receive  visits,  particularly 
from  foreigners. 

Time  flew  rapidly  on,  and  the  spring  fast  approached, 
when  she  was  to  depart  for  the  country  with  the  inten- 
tion of  remaining  seven  or  eight  months,  and  where  it 
would  be  utterly  impossible  for  me  to  see  her.  I  an- 
ticipated with  dismay  the  period  of  her  leaving  town, 
which  was  fixed  for  the  end  of  June,  and  viewed  it  as 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  165 

the  termination  of  my  existence.  Such  was  the  morbid 
state  of  both  my  mind  and  body,  that  I  considered  it 
physically  impossible  for  me  to  survive  her  loss.  This 
passion  far  exceeded  that  which  I  formerly  experienced, 
both  in  intensity  and  duration.  The  idea  of  my  death, 
which  was  indelibly  connected  with  our  separation, 
rendered  me  so  desperate  that  I  acted  like  a  man  who 
had  nothing  farther  to  lose.  The  character  of  this 
woman,  who  delighted  only  in  extremes,  tended  not  a 
little  to  nourish  this  species  of  frenzy. 

Among  my  horses  I  still  preserved  the  one  I  had 
purchased  at  Spa.  When  I  mounted  him,  I  committed 
a  thousand  extravagant  tricks,  which  even  struck  with 
astonishment  the  boldest  horseman  in  England.  I 
leaped  over  the  thickest  and  highest  hedges,  the  widest 
ditches,  and  every  barrier  that  stood  in  my  way  and 
opposed  my  progress.  On  one  of  these  days,  when  it 
was  not  permitted  me  to  visit  the  retreat  of  my  lady, 
while  taking  an  airing  with  the  Marquis  of  Caraccioli, 
I  became  suddenly  seized  with  the  whim  of  showing 
him  what  extraordinary  feats  my  horse  was  capable  of 
performing,  and  set  off  at  full  gallop  with  the  intention 
of  clearing  a  high  gate  near  the  public  road.  But  as 
my  head  was  distracted  at  the  time,  I  did  not  manage 
the  reins  with  sufficient  dexterity,  and  we  both  came  to 
the  ground.  On  recovering  my  feet,  it  appeared  to  me 
I  had  received  no  injury  ;  besides,  my  mad  passion  had 
augmented  my  courage,  and  it  seemed  as  if  I  purposely 
sought  every  occasion  of  breaking  my  neck.  The 
Marquis  Caraccioli  had  in  vain  cried  out  to  me  to  re- 
turn, but  I  remained  deaf  to  his  entreaties  ;  in  short,  I 
knew  not  what  I  did.  Observing  my  horse  about  to 
escape,  I  ran  up  to  him,  and,  laying  hold  of  the  reins, 
I  vaulted  on  his  back,  and,  spurring  him  furiously  to- 


166  MEMOIRS    OF 

wards  the  unlucky  gate,  he  cleared  it  in  a  trice,  thus 
regaining  his  own  honor  and  mine. 

This  triumph  was,  however,  hut  short-lived.  I  had 
scarcely  proceeded  a  few  paces,  when  a  shivering  per- 
vaded my  whole  frame,  and  I  experienced  an  excruciat- 
ing pain  in  my  left  shoulder.  My  arm  had  been 
dislocated,  and  the  collar-bone  fractured.  The  pain 
progressively  augmented,  and,  being  able  only  to  pro- 
ceed at  a  slow  pace,  the  road  on  returning  appeared 
unusually  tedious.  A  surgeon  was  immediately  called 
in,  who,  after  putting  me  to  great  pain,  bandaged  up 
my  arm,  and  enjoined  me  to  remain  in  bed.  Those 
alone  who  have  felt  the  dominion  of  a  passion  so  ardent 
as  mine  can  form  an  idea  of  my  rage  when  I  found 
myself  confined  to  bed  on  the  evening  of  the  happy  day 
which  was  fixed  on  for  our  second  meeting.  This  acci- 
dent occurred  on  a  Saturday  morning.  Finding  myself 
a  little  better  on  the  next  Tuesday  evening,  I  went  to 
the  opera,  where  I  found  Prince  Masserano  and  his 
lady.  As  they  supposed  I  was  hurt  and  confined  to 
my  chamber,  they  were  not  a  little  surprised  to  see  me 
in  no  other  respect  ill  than  with  my  arm  in  a  sling. 

While  apparently  with  an  unruffled  countenance, 
and  an  air  of  tranquillity,  I  listened  to  the  music,  and 
while  my  heart  was  agitated  with  a  thousand  different 
passions,  I  conceived  I  heard  my  name  pronounced  in 
a  high  tone  by  some  one  in  the  lobby.  By  a  kind  of 
mechanical  impulse,  I  opened  the  box  door,  and  im- 
mediately went  out,  shutting  it  after  me.  The  first 
person  I  saw  was  the  husband  of  my  lady,  who  had 
been  demanding  admittance. 

For  a  long  time  I  had  anticipated  this  meeting,  which 
I  rather  wished  than  took  means  to  avoid.  On  dart- 
ing out  of  the  box,  I  exclaimed  :  "  Who  inquires  for 


VITTOPJO   ALFIERI.  107 

me  ?  "  "  It  is  I,"  replied  he  ;  "  I  wish  to  speak  with 
you."  lt  Let  us  go;  I  am  ready,"  said  I,  and  without 
uttering  another  word  we  left  the  house. 

It  was  about  half  past  seven  in  the  evening.  During 
the  long  days  of  the  summer  the  opera  commences  at 
six  o'clock.  From  the  Haymarket  we  took  the  road  to 
St.  James's  Park ;  thence  we  adjourned  to  a  field 
termed  the  Green  Park,  where,  having  sought  a  retired 
corner,  we  drew  our  swords.  My  antagonist  observing 
my  left  arm  in  a  sling,  had  the  generosity  to  inquire 
whether  that  would  not  incapacitate  me  from  fighting. 
I  replied  in  the  negative,  and,  thanking  him  for  this 
mark  of  attention,  immediately  put  myself  on  my  guard. 
I  was  never  a  proficient  in  the  use  of  the  sword.  I 
rushed  on  him  contrary  to  all  the  rules  of  art,  like  a 
madman  as  I  was,  for  in  fact  I  wished  to  meet  'death 
at  his  hands.  I  knew  not  what  I  did,  but  I  must  have 
attacked  him  with  all  the  energy  of  which  I  was  ca- 
pable, since  after  fighting  for  seven  or  eight  minutes, 
the  sun  was  behind  me,  which  at  the  commencement 
shone  directly  in  my  eyes  so  as  to  prevent  me  seeing 
him.  He  must  consequently  in  retiring  have  described 
a  curve.  I  conceived  that,  as  he  only  parried  my  blows, 
his  aim  was  not  to  kill  me,  and  that,  if  he  did  not  fall 
under  my  arm,  it  was  from  my  incapability  and  want 
of  skill.  At  last,  making  a  thrust,  he  wounded  me 
between  the  elbow  and  the  wrist,  a  circumstance  of 
which  he  was  the  first  to  apprise  me,  for  I  myself  was 
unconscious  of  it,  and  in  fact  the  wound  wTas  but  slight. 
He  then  lowered  the  point  of  his  sword,  and  said  he 
was  satisfied,  inquiring  at  the  same  time  if  I  were  so 
likewise.  I  replied  that,  as  I  was  the  aggressor,  that 
rested  solely  with  him.  On  this,  sheathing  his  sword,  an 
example  which  I  followed,  he  immediately  left  the  field. 


168  MEMOIRS   OF 

When  alone,  I  wished  to  ascertain  the  nature  of  my 
wound ;  and  on  examination  discovered  that  the  sleeve 
of  my  coat  had  been  torn,  but,  not  finding  much  pain 
and  observing  the  effusion  of  blood  only  trifling,  I  con- 
ceived it  was  but  a  mere  scratch.  Not  having  the  use 
of  my  left  arm,  1  could  not  pull  off  my  coat  without 
assistance,  and  was  therefore  obliged  to  rest  contented 
with  binding  up  the  wound  in  the  best  manner  I  was 
able  with  a  handkerchief  by  means  of  my  teeth,  so  as 
to  diminish  the  loss  of  blood.  Leaving  the  park,  I 
hastened  along  Pall  Mall,  and  reached  the  door  of  the 
opera-house  an  hour  after  I  had  quitted  it. 

Observing  by  the  lights  in  the  streets,  that  neither 
my  hands  nor  dress  were  stained  with  blood,  I  unbound 
the  handkerchief,  and,  feeling  no  pain,  returned  to 
Prince  Masserano's  box.  On  entering  it,  the  prince 
inquired  why  I  had  retired  so  precipitately,  and  where 
I  had  been.  Discovering  from  this  that  he  had  not 
overheard  our  discourse,  I  merely  said  I  had  recollected 
an  appointment,  and  added  nothing  further.  Notwith- 
standing my  efforts  to  appear  calm,  my  mind  was 
dreadfully  harassed  by  reflecting  on  the  consequences 
of  this  affair,  and  particularly  on  the  injury  it  might  do 
to  the  woman  I  adored. 


XL 

INVIGORATED  by  several  hours  of  profound  sleep,  I 
had  my  wound  dressed,  and  flew  to  the  house  of  my  lady. 
From  the  domestics  whom  we  had  employed  to  gain  in- 
telligence, we  learned  everything  that  passed  in  the  house 
of  her  husband,  which  was  only  at  a  short,  distance,  as 
I  have  before  mentioned,  from  the  one  of  which  she 
was  now  an  inmate.  Though  it  appeared  to  me  that 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  169 

a  divorce  would  terminate  our  misfortunes,  though  the 
father  of  the  lady  whom  I  had  known  for  two  years 
called  to  congratulate  his  daughter  on  having  now 
made  a  choice,  he  was  pleased  to  say,  worthy  of  her ; 
notwithstanding  all  these  favorable  appearances,  I  con- 
ceived I  could  discern  on  the  beautiful  face  of  my  mis- 
tress a  cloud  which  presaged  a  new  calamity.  She 
wept  without  ceasing,  protesting  every  moment  that 
she  loved  me  beyond  expression. 

It  may  be  readily  conjectured  what  anxiety  I  suf- 
fered during  the  interval  between  Wednesday  and  Fri- 
day. On  the  morning  of  the  last-mentioned  day,  I 
again  implored  my  mistress  to  unfjld  the  cause  of  her 
sorrow  and  sadness,  and  to  explain  what  appeared  to 
me  enigmatical  in  her  discourse.  After  a  long  pream- 
ble, occasionally  interrupted  by  sobs  and  tears,  she  at 
length  said  she  was  unworthy  of  me,  and  that  circum- 
stances rendered  our  union  impossible The  de- 
tails filled  my  soul  with  abhorrence I  lo?ded  her 

with  execrations.  Even  now,  after  the  lapse  of  twenty 
years,  when  I  reflect  on  what  I  then  suffered,  my  blood 
boils  in  my  veins. 

On  my  arrival  in  London,  I  learned  that  I  was  made 
the  principal  party  in  the  process  of  divorce  still  pend- 
ing, the  husband  having  chosen  to  bring  me  forward  in 
preference  to  my  rival  in  this  affair.  I  cannot  suffi- 
ciently extol  the  conduct  of  this  worthy  husband.  He 
neither  wished  to  kill  me  when  I  was  in  his  power, 
nor  yet  sought  to  extort  from  me  the  damages  usually 
allowed  by  the  law  in  such  cases.  If,  instead  of  making 
me  draw  my  sword,  it  had  been  his  object  to  subject  me 
to  a  pecuniary  penalty,  it  would  have  greatly  embar- 
rassed my  circumstances.  This  intrepid  and  generous 
man  acted  throughout  the  wliule  affair  in  a  manner  I 


170  MEMOIRS   OF 

very  little  merited.  As  the  fact  was  -too  evident  to  admit 
of  a  doubt,  a  divorce  was  obtained  without  my  being 
under  the  necessity  of  appearing  in  court,  and  without 
any  measures  being  taken  to  impede  my  departure 
from  England. 


XII. 

AFTER  the  late  events  I  could  no  more  taste  tran- 
quillity when  I  every  day  beheld  those  objects  which 
called  up  the  recollection  of  my  sufferings.  All  those 
who  interested  themselves  in  my  concerns,  and  com- 
miserated my  fate,  urged  me  to  leave  England.  I 
accordingly  took  my  departure  about  the  end  of  June, 
and  as  in  the  distracted  state  of  my  mind  I  longed  for 
the  consolations  of  friendship,  I  instinctively  thought 
of  D'Acunha  and  Holland.  Arriving  at  the  Hague,  I 
remained  with  him  several  weeks,  carefully  avoiding 
the  society  of  every  one  else.  He  did  everything  in 
his  power  to  assuage  my  sorrow,  but  my  wound  was 
too  deep  to  admit  of  consolation.  I  felt  my  melan- 
choly daily  augmented,  and  imagining  that  the  dissi- 
pation inseparable  from  incessant  change  of  place,  and 
the  sight  of  new  objects,  could  alone  soothe  my  per- 
turbed feelings,  I  resolved  to  proceed  to  Spain,  the 
only  European  country  I  had  not  yet  visited.  With 
this  view  I  took  the  road  to  Brussels,  the  sight  of 
which  aggravated  my  sorrow  by  the  comparison  which 
I  drew  between  my  first  attachment  in  Holland  and 
my  recent  adventure  in  England.  Either  absorbed  in 
a  reverie,  delirious,  or  shedding  tears  in  silence,  I  at 
length  arrived,  all  alone,  at  Paris.  This  great  capital, 
in  the  amusements  of  which  I  was  not  a  partaker,  was 
equally  disagreeable  to  me  now  as  formerly.  Here  I 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  171 

remained,  however,  for  a  month,  till  the  great  heats 
began  to  abate,  before  entering  Spain.  I  might,  had 
I  been  so  inclined,  have  obtained  an  introduction  to  the 
celebrated  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  through  the  medium 
of  an  Italian  acquaintance,  who  lived  in  habits  of  inti- 
macy with  him,  and  who  predicted  that  we  should  be 
mutually  pleased  with  each  other.  I  greatly  esteemed 
Rousseau,  but  it  was  more  on  account  of  his  upright  and 
independent  character  than  from  his  works,  since  the 
little  I  had  read  of  them  rather  disgusted  me,  owing  to 
the  labor  and  affectation  of  sentiment  evident  throughout 
all  the  productions  of  this  author.  Nevertheless,  as  I 
possessed  little  curiosity,  and  still  less  accommodation 
to  the  foibles  of  others,  and  was  equally  proud  and 
unbending  as  himself,  without  the  same  title  to  be  so, 
I  inclined  not  to  embrace  the  offered  introduction,  the 
success  of  which  was  at  least  doubtful.  Why  seek  the 
acquaintance  of  an  odd  and  morose  man,  to  whom  I 
would  have  rendered  ten  coarse  expressions  for  one ; 
since  by  a  kind  of  natural  instinct,  I  always  repaid  with 
usury  both  evil  and  good. 

Instead  therefore  of  cultivating  an  intimacy  with 
Rousseau,  I  formed  what-wras  much  more  interesting 
to  me,  an  acquaintance  with  the  works  of  the  most 
celebrated  characters  in  Italy,  or  perhaps  in  the  world. 
I  purchased  during  my  stay  in  Paris  a  collection  of  the 
works  of  our  most  celebrated  writers  both  in  prose  and 
verse,  in  thirty-six  small  handsome  volumes.  These 
became  my  constant  companions,  though  I  must  con- 
fess I  did  not  derive  all  the  advantage  from  them  which 
might  naturally  have  been  expected,  during  the  two 
or  three  first  years  they  remained  in  my  possession,  as  I 
then  had  neither  inclination  nor  opportunity  for  study, 
respect  to  the  Italian  language,  I  had  so  totally 


172  MEMOIRS   OF 

forgotten  it,  as  to  be  scarcely  capable  of  comprehend- 
ing the  least  abstruse  of  our  authors ;  but  on  occasion- 
ally opening  some  of  my  thirty-six  volumes,  I  was 
much  surprised  to  see  such  a  list  of  poetasters  and 
rhymers,  bound  up  with  our  principal  poets.  So  con- 
summate indeed  was  my  ignorance,  that  I  knew  not 
even  the  titles  of  the  works  of  Torrachionne,  Morgante, 
Ricciardetto,  etc.,  poems  which  I  have  since  regretted 
having  spent  so  much  time  in  perusing.  The  acquisi- 
tion of  this  collection  proved  of  most  incalculable  ben- 
efit to  me ;  I  never  afterwards  parted  with  these  six 
fathers  of  our  divine  language,  Dante,  Petrarch,  Ari- 
osto,  Tasso,  Boccaccio,  and  Machiavel,  in  whom  every 
excellence  is  concentrated. 

To  my  eternal  shame  I  had  attained  my  twenty - 
second  year  without  having  read  any  of  these  clas- 
sics, excepting  a  few  portions  of  Ariosto,  during  my 
adolescence. 

With  such  a  powerful  antidote  against  idleness  and 
ennui,  I  departed  for  Spain  about  the  middle  of  Au- 
gust. I  passed  through  Orleans,  Tours,  Poitiers, 
Bourdeaux,  and  Toulouse,  the  most  delightful  and 
luxuriant  part  of  France,  without  casting  on  it  a  single 
glance,  and  entered  Spain  by  the  way  of  Perpignan. 
Barcelona  was  the  first  city  at  which  I  stopped  since 
my  departure  from  Paris.  During  this  journey  I  did 
nothing  but  weep  in  secret.  I  opened  occasionally 
some  of  the  volumes  of  my  favorite  Montaigne,  which 
I  had  not  looked  into  during  the  last  twelve  months  ; 
and  this  occupation  gradually  restored  me  to  reason, 
and  imparted  to  my  mind  a  certain  degree  of  fortitude 
and  even  consolation. 

Before  leaving  Britain  I  had  disposed  of  my  whole 
stud,  except  the  most  beautiful  animals,  which  I  left 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  173 

in  charge  of  the  Marquis  Caraccioli ;  and  as  horses 
were  become  with  me  a  necessary  of  existence,  I  pur- 
chased two  a  few  days  after  my  arrival  at  Barcelona. 
They  were  both  of  the  Andalusian  race,  the  one  a 
noble  animal,  while  the  other,  though  somewhat 
smaller,  was  full  of  spirit.  I  had  always  longed  to 
possess  Spanish  horses,  but  this  desire  had  never  till 
now  been  gratified  ;  my  heart  therefore  bounded  with 
joy  on  becoming  master  of  two  of  the  most  beautiful 
of  their  kind.  My  horses  afforded  me  still  more  con- 
solation than  Montaigne.  I  reckoned  on  performing 
with  them  my  journey  through  Spain,  as  the  roads  in 
this  country  are  so  extremely  bad  that  it  has  hitherto 
been  found  impracticable  to  establish  regular  post- 
coaches  :  they  can  only  travel  short  stages  at  a  mule's 
pace. 

A  slight  indisposition  having  compelled  me  to  re- 
main at  Barcelona  till  the  month  of  November,  I 
endeavored  with  the  aid  of  a  Spanish  grammar  and 
dictionary  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  this  beautiful  lan- 
guage, which  is  not  a  difficult  task  to  an  Italian.  In 
a  few  days  I  began  to  comprehend  and  relish  Don 
Quixote.  It  is  true,  indeed,  my  progress  was  much 
facilitated  by  having  formerly  perused  this  work  in 
French. 

I  took  the  road  to  Saragossa  and  Madrid,  and  I 
gradually  became  accustomed  to  travel  through  desert 
tracts,  from  which  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  extri- 
cate myself,  had  I  not  possessed  youth,  patience,  and 
money.  During  the  fifteen  days  which  intervened 
from  the  time  of  my  setting  out  till  I  reached  Madrid, 
I  was  obliged  to  take  up  my  abode  in  some  of  the  half- 
civilized  villages  which  lay  in  my  route.  This  proved 
more  irksome  to  me  than  even  the  want  of  post-roads ; 


174  MEMOIBS   OF 

besides,  change  of  place  always  afforded  me  pleasure, 
while  on  the  contrary  I  regarded  inaction  as  the  great- 
est curse. 

I  performed  almost  the  whole  of  this  journey  on  foot, 
with  my  Andalusian  courser,  which  accompanied  me 
like  a  faithful  dog,  and  appeared  to  understand  what- 
ever was  said  to  him.  How  great  was  my  delight  on 
heing  alone  with  him  in  the  vast  wilds  of  Arragon.  I 
sent  forward  my  domestics  with  the  carriage,  and  fol- 
lowed them  at  a  short  distance.  Elias,  mounted  on  a 
very  handsome  mule,  occasionally  shot  some  hares, 
rahhits,  and  birds.  He  preceded  me  by  several  hours, 
and  halted  at  midday  and  in  the  evening  to  prepare  the 
game  for  my  repast. 

It  was  unfortunate  for  me,  though  perhaps  fortunate 
for  others,  that  I  had  at  this  time  no  means  of  ex- 
pressing either  my  ideas  or  emotions  in  verse.  The 
melancholy  and  moral  reflections,  the  terrific  and  gay 
images  of  every  hue,  which  the  sight  of  these  profound 
solitudes  presented  to  my  imagination,  would  certainly 
have  inspired  me  with  the  desire  of  composing  verses, 
had  I  known  how  to  give  expression  to  my  ideas,  and 
not  been  prepossessed  with  the  notion  that  I  should 
never  succeed  in  writing  either  prose  or  verse.  I 
spent  my  time  in  a  reverie,  weeping  and  laughing  by 
turns,  like  an  infant,  without  knowing  why.  This 
state  of  mind  is  termed  poetic  enthusiasm  when  it 
leads  to  the  production  of  any  work,  but  is  justly 
regarded  as  folly  when  unproductive  of  fruit. 

In  this  manner  I  proceeded  to  Madrid.  The  taste  I 
had  acquired  for  a  wandering  life  tended  not  to  over- 
come the  indolence  of  my  disposition.  I  remained 
only  one  month  in  the  Spanish  capital,  and  during 
that  period  did  not  form  a  single  acquaintance,  except 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  175 

with  a  watchmaker  who  was  lately  returned  from  Hol- 
land, wheVe  he  had  been  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  his 
art.  This  young  Spaniard  possessed  much  natural 
intelligence  ;  he  had  seen  something  of  the  world,  and 
felt  for  the  tyranny  which  weighed  so  heavy  on  his 
native  country.  I  must  here  relate  a  trait  of  brutality 
to  which  Elias  had  nearly  fallen  a  victim.  One  even- 
ing when  I  had  supped  with  the  watchmaker,  and  just 
as  we  were  about  to  rise  from  table,  Elias  entered  to 
arrange  my  hair,  as  was  customary  with  him,  before 
going  to  bed.  During  this  operation  he  stretched  one 
of  the  hairs  so  as  to  give  me  pain,  on  which,  without 
saying  a. word,  I  started  up,  seized  a  candlestick,  and 
threw  it  at  his  head.  He  received  the  stroke  on  his 
right  temple,  and  the  blood  spouted  out  with  such  vio- 
lence as  to  cover  the  watchmaker,  who  sat  at  the 
opposite  side  of  the  table,  which  was  very  large.  This 
young  man,  who  had  neither  observed  nor  could  con- 
jecture that  the  stretching  of  a  single  hair  beyond  the 
rest  could  produce  this  sudden  frenzy,  justly  con- 
cluded I  had  been  seized  with  a  fit  of  insanity,  and  he 
sprang  forward  in  order  to  secure  me.  Before,  how- 
ever, he  could  effect  his  purpose,  the  undaunted  Elias 
had  fallen  on  me  in  order  to  avenge  himself,  which  he 
was  perfectly  able  to  do,  had  I  not  by  my  uncommon 
agility  freed  myself  from  his  grasp.  This  gave  me 
time  to  seize  my  sword,  which  I  drew  and  directed  the 
point  to  his  breast.  Such  was  the  fury  of  Elias  that 
he  would  have  rushed  forward  had  not  the  young 
Spaniard  interposed  himself  between  us.  In  the  mean 
time  the  noise  had  brought  up  the  domestics  belonging 
to  the  hotel,  and  we  were  separated. 

Thus  ended  this  tragi-comic  affray,  which  was  so 
disgraceful  to  me.     After  acquiring  some  degree  of 


176  MEMOIRS   OF 

calmness,  I  informed  Elias  that  on  his  plucking  my 
hair  I  found  it  impossible  to  restrain  my  rage.  He 
assured  me  that  it  happened  by  accident,  and  unknown 
to  him  5  and  the  Spaniard  was  at  length  convinced 
that  I  was  not  insane,  but  that  I  was  far  from  being 
wise.  I  was  so  ashamed  and  humbled  at  my  intem- 
perate conduct  that  I  said  to  Elias  he  would  have  done 
well  had  he  killed  me,  and  he  was  very  capable  to 
have  done  so ;  for  though  I  myself  am  above  the 
common  size,  yet  he  was  much  my  superior  in  this 
respect,  and  was  besides  a  man  of  extraordinary 
courage. 

The  wdund  in  his  temple  was  not  deep,  but  it  bled 
profusely ;  had  I  struck  him  a  little  higher,  this  man, 
to  whom  I  was  much  attached,  would  certainly  have 
fallen  by  my  hand,  and  that  for  a  hair.  I  was  shocked 
at  the  brutal  excess  of  passion  into  which  I  had  fallen. 
Though  Elias  was  somewhat  calmed,  he  still  appeared 
to  retain  a  certain  degree  of  resentment ;  yet  I  was 
not  disposed  to  display  towards  him  the  smallest 
distrust. 

Two  hours  after  his  wound  was  dressed  I  went  to 
bed,  leaving  the  door  open,  as  usual,  between  my 
apartment  and  the  chamber  in  which  he  slept;  not- 
withstanding the  remonstrance  of  the  Spaniard,  who 
pointed  out  to  me  the  absurdity  of  putting  ven- 
geance in  the  power  of  a  man  whom  I  had  so  much 
irritated. 

I  said  even  aloud  to  Elias,  who  was  already  in  bed, 
that  he  might  kill  me  if  he  was  so  inclined  during  the 
night ;  and  that  I  justly  merited  such  a  fate.  But  this 
brave  man,  who  possessed  as  much  elevation  of  soul 
as  myself,  took  no  other  revenge  for  my  outrageous 
conduct,  except  preserving  for  several  years  two  hand- 


VITTORIO  ALFIERI.  177 

kerchiefs  stained  with  blood  which  had  been  bound 
round  his  head,  and  which  he  occasionally  displayed 
to  my  view.  It  is  necessary  to  be  fully  acquainted 
with  the  character  and  manners  of  the  Piedmontese  in 
order  to  comprehend  the  mixture  of  ferocity  and  gener- 
osity displayed  on  both  sides  in  this  affair. 

When  at  a  more  mature  age,  I  endeavored  to  dis- 
cover the  cause  of  this  violent  transport  of  rage,  I 
became  convinced  that  the  trivial  circumstance  which 
gave  rise  to  it  was,  so  to  speak,  like  the  last  drop 
poured  into  a  vessel  ready  to  run  over.  My  irascible 
temper,  which  must  have  been  rendered  still  more  irri- 
table by  solitude  and  perpetual  idleness,  required  only 
the  slightest  impulse  to  cause  it  to  burst  forth.  Be- 
sides, I  never  lifted  a  hand  against  a  domestic,  as  that 
would  have  been  putting  them  on  a  level  with  myself. 
Neither  did  I  ever  employ  a  cane,  nor  any  kind  of  wea- 
pon, in  order  to  chastise  them,  though  I  frequently 
threw  at  them  any  movable  that  fell  in  my  way,  as 
many  young  people  do,  during  the  first  ebullition  of 
anger  j  yet  I  dare  affirm  that  I  would  have  approved, 
and  even  esteemed  the  domestic  who  should  on  such 
occasions  have  rendered  me  back  the  treatment  he 
received,  since  I  never  punished  them  as  a  master,  but 
only  contended  with  them  as  one  man  with  another. 

Having  lived  like  a  bear  at  Madrid,  I  left  it  without 
having  viewed  any  of  those  objects  calculated  to  excite 
the  curiosity  of  strangers.  I  neither  visited  the  Escu- 
rial,  Aranjuez,  nor  the  palace,  nor  even  saw  the  king 
himself.  The  chief  reason  of  this  extraordinary  apa- 
thy was  the  coldness  which  prevailed  between  me  and 
the  Sardinian  envoy.  I  had  met  this  minister  in  Lon- 
don during  his  residence  at  the  Court  of  St.  James's, 
and  we  were  mutually  displeased  with  each  other. 


178  MEMOIES   OF 

On  arriving  at  Madrid,  I  learned  that  the  court  had 
removed  to  some  one  of  the  royal  residences  in  the 
country,  and  I  embraced  the  opportunity  of  the  envoy's 
absence  to  leave  a  note  at  his  house  with  a  letter  of 
recommendation,  which  I  brought  as  a  matter  of  course 
from  the  secretary  of  state.  On  his  return  from  the 
country  he  called  at  my  lodgings,  but  found  me  from 
home,  and  no  means  were  afterwards  taken  on  either 
side  to  promote  a  meeting.  This  circumstance  con- 
tributed not  a  little  to  render  my  stay  unpleasant.  I 
left  Madrid  early  in  December,  and,  passing  through 
Toledo  and  Badajoz,  I  took  the  road  to  Lisbon,  where 
I  arrived  bn  the  Christmas  evening. 

The  appearance  of  this  city,  especially  to  those  who, 
like  me,  approach  it  by  the  Tagus,  is  strikingly  mag- 
nificent. It  resembles  that  of  Genoa,  but  is  much 
more  varied  and  extensive.  Viewed  at  a  certain  dis- 
tance, it  truly  enchanted  me.  My  delight  and  as- 
tonishment, however,  diminished  as  I  approached  the 
shore,  and  were  quickly  converted  into  melancholy  and 
sorrow.  As  soon  as  I  landed  I  observed  in  several 
streets  vestiges  of  the  earthquake,  particularly  in  the 
lower  part  of  the  city,  though  fifteen  years  had  elapsed 
since  the  occurrence  of  that  dreadful  and  ever  memo- 
rable catastrophe. 

The  short  stay  of  five  weeks  which  I  made  at  Lis- 
bon will  be  an  epoch  ever  dear  to  my  heart ;  for  it 
was  then  I  became  acquainted  with  the  Abbe  Caluso, 
youngest  brother  to  Count  Valperga  di  Masino,  at 
that  time  our  minister  at  the  Court  of  Portugal.  This 
man,  distinguished  by  his  virtues,  his  character,  and 
his  knowledge,  rendered  the  time  I  spent  there'  ex- 
tremely delightful.  I  dined  with  him  every  day  at 
his  brother's  table,  and  again  returned  in  order  to  pass 


VITTOPJO   ALFIERI.  179 

with  him  the  long  winter  evenings,  preferring  his  soci- 
ety to  all  the  amusements  the  great  world  could  afford. 
I  never  departed  without  having  reaped  some  im- 
provement. His  attention  and  indulgence  to  me  were 
beyond  expression,  and  tended  to  diminish  the  shame 
I  felt  for  my  extreme  ignorance,  which  must  have  been 
the  more  disgusting  to  him  as  he  possessed  the  most 
'profound  knowledge  on  every  subject.  I  had  never 
before  met  with  the  same  liberal  treatment  from  men 
of  letters,  whose  company  always  appeared  insupport- 
able to  me,  which  can  excite  no  surprise,  as  my  igno- 
rance was  equal  to  my  pride. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  happy  evenings  that  I 
experienced  an  enthusiastic  love  of  poetry ;  but  this 
spark  was  quickly  extinguished,  and  disappeared  fjr 
several  years.  The  worthy  Abbe  read  to  me  the  sub- 
lime Ode  to  Fortune,  by  Guido,  a  poet  of  whose  name 
I  was  then  ignorant.  Some  stanzas  of  this  ode,  and 
especially  those  on  Pornpey,  enchanted  me.  The  de- 
lighted Abbe  persuaded  himself  that  I  had  been  born  a 
poet,  and  assured  me  with  a  little  attention  and  study 
I  should  write  very  good  verses  ;  but  this  burst  of  rap- 
ture having  passed  away,  I  ceased  to  consider  it  possible, 
and  thought  no  more  on  the  subject.  The  friendship 
and  society  of  this  worthy  man,  of  this  living  Montaigne, 
proved,  however,  of  the  greatest  utility  in  tranquillizing 
my  mind.  I  began  to  read  and  reflect  more  than  I  had 
done  for  the  last  eighteen  months. 

At  the  commencement  of  February  I  set  out  for 
Seville  and  Cadiz,  impressed  with  the  most  lively 
friendship  and  profound  esteem  for  the  Abbe  Caluso, 
whom  I  hoped  again  to  meet  at  Turin.  The  climate 
of  Seville,  and  the  original  Spanish  countenance,  which 
has  been  better  preserved  here  than  in  any  other  part 


180  MEMOIRS   OF 

of  the  kingdom,  afforded  me  much  pleasure.  I  have 
always  preferred  an  original,  though  bad,  to  the  best 
copy.  The  Spanish  and  Portuguese  are,  I  believe,  the 
only  European  nations  who  have  retained  their  original 
manners;  this  is  particularly  observable  among  the 
lower  classes.  Though  their  good  qualities  be  engulfed 
in  an  abyss  of  oppression  and  abuses  of  every  kind,  I 
am  fully  persuaded  these  people  under  a  wise  govern- 
ment might  be  led  to  perform  the  most  brilliant  actions, 
as  they  possess  courage,  perseverance,  honor,  sobriety, 
docility,  patience,  and  elevation  of  mind. 

I  passed  the  carnival  with  some  degree  of  happiness 
at  Cadiz.  v  On  reaching  Perpignan,  I  found  my  health 
in  a  bad  state,  but,  taking  post  from  this  place,  I  suffered 
infinitely  less  during  the  remainder  of  iny  journey.  The 
two  places  which  pleased  me  best  during  this  excursion 
were  Cordova  and  Valentia.  The  whole  of  the  latter 
kingdom,  which  I  passed  through  about  the  end  of 
March,  presented  to  my  view  such  a  paradise  of  delights 
as  brought  to  my  mind  the  description  of  spring  given 
by  the  poets.  The  environs,  the  walks,  the  rivulets, 
the  site  of  the  city  of  Valentia  itself,  the  bright  azure 
of  the  heavens,  the  purity  and  elasticity  of  the  atmos- 
phere, the  women,  whose  sparkling  eyes  far  outvie 
those  of  the  ladies  of  Cadiz,  all  appeared  to  me  truly 
romantic.  The  whole  of  this  country  appeared  to  my 
astonished  view  like  fairyland,  and  left  on  my  mind  a 
more  ardent  desire  to  revisit  it  than  any  other  country 
I  had  ever  beheld. 

On  arriving  the  second  time  at  Barcelona,  I  was  so 
fatigued  with  travelling  so  slowly,  that  I  at  last  resolved, 
though  with  the  most  lively  regret,  to  part  with  my 
beautiful  Andalusian  horse.  He  had  been  ill-used  dur- 
ing my  last  journey,  and  I  could  not  resolve  to  fatigue 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  181 

him  any  more  by  making  him  trot  behind  my  carriage. 
My  other  horse  had  become  lame  between  Cordova  and 
Valentia,  and  as  I  did  not  wish  to  remain  on  the  road 
till  he  recovered,  1  gave  him  to  two  very  pretty  daugh- 
ters of  my  host,  recommending  to  them  to  see  him  well- 
treated,  and  assuring  them  that  he  would  sell  for  a 
considerable  sum  as  soon  as  he  was  cured.  As  to  my 
favorite  Andalusian,  I  could  not  resolve  to  sell  him, 
being  from  my  nature  a  great  enemy  to  every  species 
of  traffic;  I  therefore  presented  him  to  a  French  banker 
residing  at  Barcelona,  with  whom  I  had  become  ac- 
quainted during  my  first  visit  to  this  city. 

I  shall  here  recount  a  circumstance  which  serves  to 
display  the  character  of  these  money  agents.  I  had  in 
my  possession  three  hundred  Spanish  doubloons,  which 
the  regulations  at  the  custom-house  on  the  frontiers 
would  have  rendered  it  difficult  to  carry  along  with  me. 
After  making  a  present  of  my  horse  to  this  banker,  I 
inquired  if  he  could  favor  me  with  a  bill  of  exchange 
on  Montpellier,  through  which  I  must  necessarily  pass. 
In  order  to  evince  his  gratitude  for  my  gift,  he  took  my 
doubloons  and  gave  me  a  bill,  the  interest  of  which  he 
calculated  to  a  day. 

On  arriving  at  Montpellier,  I  found  that  I  was  a  loser 
of  seven  per  cent.  This  conduct  of  the  banker  was 
certainly  not  necessary  in  order  to  fix  my  opinion 
respecting  this  class  of  men,  whom  I  have  always  con- 
sidered in  the  worst  possible  light.  They  imitate  the 
manners  of  the  nobles,  and  while  from  ostentation  they 
entertain  you  at  their  tables,  they  rob  you  on  the  prin- 
ciples of  trade  in  their  counting-room ;  besides,  they  are 
always  ready  to  take  advantage  of  every  public  calamity. 

Travelling  as  fast  as  gold  and  the  whip  could  urge 
on  the  mules,  I  proceeded  from  Barcelona  to  Perpignan 


182  MEMOIRS   OF 

in  two  days.  Always  anxious  to  push  forward,  I  flew 
rather  than  travelled  post  from  this  place  to  Antibes, 
without  stopping  either  at  Narbonne,  Montpellier,  or 
Aix.  From  Antibes  I  instantly  embarked  for  Genoa, 
where  I  remained  three  days  in  order  to  recover  from 
my  fatigue.  I  afterwards  proceeded  to  Asti,  where  I 
stayed  some  time  with  my  mother,  and  at  length,  after 
an  absence  of  three  years,  arrived  at  Turin  on  the  5th 
of  May,  1772. 

XIII. 

THOUGH  in  the  eyes  of  others,  as  well  as  in  my  own, 
I  had  derived  no  advantage  from  my  various  travels, 
yet  my  ideas  had  certainly  begun  to  expand,  and  my 
reasoning  faculty  to  become  stronger.  Hence  I  did  not 
receive  very  cordially  my  brother-in-law  when  he  came 
to  advise  me  to  solicit  some  diplomatic  employment. 
I  told  him  I  had  seen  enough  of  kings  and  their  repre- 
sentatives ;  that  it  was  impossible  to  esteem  them ; 
that  I  would  not  even  represent  the  Great  Mogul,  and 
still  less  the  King  of  Sardinia,  one  of  the  most  petty 
European  princes;  that  in  my  opinion,  in  a  country 
governed  like  ours,  an  individual  could  only  live  on  his 
fortune,  if  he  possessed  one,  or  otherwise  embrace  some 
laudable  occupation  by  which  he  could  secure  to  himself 
a  happy  independence.  This  discourse  somewhat 
lengthened  the  countenance  of  my  brother-in-law,  who 
was  a  lord  of  the  bedchamber.  He  never  again  spoke 
to  me  of  any  employment,  and  my  ideas  on  this  subject 
remained  unchanged. 

Behold  me  then,  at  twenty-three  years  of  age,  in 
possession  of  an  ample  fortune  for  a  native  of  Piedmont, 
enjoying  as  much  liberty  as  it  was  possible  to  do,  having 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  183 

acquired  a  knowledge,  though  imperfectly,  of  the  moral 
and  political  world,  by  seeing  different  men  and  different 
countries ;  as  much  of  a  philosopher  as  was  compatible 
with  my  years,  and  equally  proud  as  ignorant.  Hence 
it  is  easy  to  foresee  that  I  had  not  yet  run  through  the 
whole  scale  of  errors,  and  that  I  had  still  many  faults 
to  commit  before  my  impetuous,  proud,  and  intolerant 
character  would  submit  to  the  control  of  reason. 

Toward  the  end  of  1773  I  took  a  splendid  house  in 
the  Piazza  di  S.  Carlo,  at  Turin.  I  furnished  it  with 
taste  and  luxury,  but  with  some  degree  of  singularity ; 
and  I  began  to  lead  a  most  agreeable  and  pleasant  life, 
amid  those  friends  who  flocked  round  me  in  crowds.  I 
again  renewed  my  intimacy  with  my  former  young  and 
foolish  academic  companions,  among  whom  were  ten  or 
t  welve  whose  characters  more  nearly  assimilated  with 
iny  own. 

We  established  a  permanent  society,  for  which  regu- 
lations were,  drawn  up,  tests  prescribed,  and  various 
other  mummeries  similar  to  the  craft  of  masonry. 
Those  who  offered  themselves  as  candidates  were  either 
rejected  or  admitted  by  a  majority  of  voices.  The  only 
object  of  our  society,  which  met  several  times  a  week, 
was  to  amuse  ourselves  by  supping  together,  and  rea- 
soning, or  rather  talking  nonsense,  on  every  subject 
which  occurred. 

These  solemn  sittings  were  most  frequently  held  at 
my  house,  because  it  was  handsomer  and  more  spacious 
than  those  of  my  comrades,  and  because,  as  I  was  a 
bachelor  and  lived  alone,  wre  could  enjoy  greater  free- 
dom. Among  these  youths,  who  were  descended  from 
the  first  families  in  the  city,  some  were  rich,  others 
poor ;  many  of  them  had  only  moderate  abilities,  while 
others  evinced  the  most  consummate  talents;  many 


184  MEMOIRS   OF 

possessed  little  humor,  while  others  displayed  the  most 
brilliant  wit;  even  several  of  them  had  received  the 
very  best  education.  Hence  it  is  evident  that  I  could 
claim  no  superiority  over  these  my  youthful  companions, 
though  I  had  seen  more  of  the  world  than  the  whole  of 
them  put  together;  nor  do  I  believe  I  would  have  been 
so  inclined,  had  I  even  been  entitled  to  do  so.  The 
laws  that  we  established  were  discussed,  not  dictated  ; 
they  were  just  and  impartial.  We  had  a  throne  erected, 
through  an  opening  in  which  essays  and  papers  of  vari- 
ous kinds  were  deposited ;  the  key  was  intrusted  to  the 
president,  who  was  chosen  every  week,  and  whose  duty 
it  was  to  read  all  these  productions.  Some  of  them 
were  extremely  amusing,  and  not  wholly  destitute  of 
humor.  They  were  all  anonymous,  though  we  fre- 
quently conjectured  the  name  of  the  author.  It  was  a 
common  misfortune,  but  particularly  so  to  me,  that  all 
these  writings  abounded  in  French  idioms.  For  my 
part  I  threw  several  into  the  throne,  which  occasioned 
great  mirth  in  the  assembly.  They  were  generally  on 
humorous  subjects,  interlarded  with  philosophy  and 
numerous  absurdities,  and  Avritten  in  a  style  which,  if 
not  barbarous,  was  at  least  far  from  being  perfect,  but 
which  passed  with  an  auditory  as  little  versed  in  the 
beauties  of  composition  as  myself.  I  recollect  a  frag- 
ment which  I  still  preserve,  descriptive  of  a  scene  in  the 
Last  Judgment.  In  it  God  is  represented  as  demand- 
ing of  the  souls  assembled  before  his  judgment-seat  an 
account  of  all  their  different  actions,  and  several  per- 
sonages are  introduced,  who  depict  their  own  character. 
This  trifle  was  received  with  great  applause  ;  they  dis- 
covered in  it  much  justness  and  strength  of  coloring, 
and  named  on  the  spot  several  of  those  alluded  to  in 
the  different  portraits. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  185 

Tins  little  essay  convinced  me  that  I  could  commu- 
nicate my  ideas  in  writing  so  as  to  produce  some  effect 
on  others,  and  inspired  me  with  the  desire  and  a  faint 
hope  of  producing  some  work  which  might  secure  to 
me  literary  immortality.  Nothing,  however,  could  be 
more  vague  than  these  ideas,  since  my  total  ignorance 
prevented  me  from  putting  such  a  design  into  execution. 
I  possessed  a  kind  of  natural  instinct  for  satire,  and 
evinced  great  facility  in  holding  up  persons  and  things 
to  ridicule.  Notwithstanding  my  disposition  to  this 
species  of  writing,  I  contemned  it  at  the  bottom  of  my 
heart,  being  convinced  that  the  short-lived  success  of 
such  productions  is  rather  imputable  to  malignity  and 
envy,  which  always  rejoice  when  others  are  attacked, 
than  to  the  intrinsic  merit  of  the  satire  itself. 

I  lived  in  a  state  of  the  most  deplorable  idleness, 
without  having  a  moment  to  myself,  or  ever  opening  a 
book.  It  is  not  then  wonderful  that  I  again  fell  under 
the  dominion  of  love,  whose  yoke  was  now  much 
more  disgraceful  than  formerly ;  and  from  which  I 
only  escaped  by  a  violent  fit  of  study  with  which  I  was 
fortunately  seized,  and  which,  never  afterwards  leaving 
me,  preserved  me  from  weariness,  anxiety,  and  I  may  add 
even  despair.  I  am  certain,  had  I  not  stored  my  mind 
with  useful  knowledge  before  attaining  my  thirtieth 
year,  I  should  either  have  become  insane  or  committed 
suicide. 

This  third  accession  of  love,  though'  short,*was  truly 
extravagant.  The  new  object  of  my  attachment  was 
a  woman  of  distinguished  birth,  but  older  than  I  by 
nine  or  ten  years.  I  first  became  acquainted  with  her 
on  my  entrance  into  life,  during  the  period  I  remained 
in  the  academy  ;  and  I  now  lodged  exactly  opposite  her 
house.  The  advances  she  made  to  me,  my  idleness, 


186  MEMOIRS   OF 

and  the  state  of  my  feelings,  which  perhaps  resembled 
those  of  which  Petrarch  said  with  so  much  truth,  — 

"  So  di  che  poco  canape  si  allaccia 
Un'  anima  gentil,  quand'  ella  e  sola, 
E  non  e  chi  per  lei  difesa  faccia  "  ; 

in  short,  Apollo,  who  inclined  to  lead  me  into  the  road 
of  wisdom  by  this  extraordinary  route,  all  conspired, 
though  I  at  first  neither  esteemed  nor  loved  her,  not- 
withstanding she  was  not  destitute  of  beauty,  to  make 
me  believe  like  a  fool  in  the  sincerity  of  that  ardent 
attachment  she  professed  for  me,  and  I  at  length  really 
loved  her  even  to  madness.  Friends,  amusements, 
even  my  favorite  horses,  were  neglected.  I  remained 
continually  by  her  side,  discontented  with  my  conduct, 
yet  unable  to  leave  her.  In  this  wretched  and  vacil- 
lating state  did  I  live,  or,  more  properly  speaking, 
vegetate,  from  the  middle  of  1773  till  February,  1775, 
without  reflecting  on  the  consequences  of  this  adven- 
ture, the  termination  of  which  proved  at  once  so  dis- 
tressing and  fortunate  to  me.  • 


XIV. 

TOWARDS  the  end  of  the  year  1773  I  was  attacked 
by  a  severe  malady,  of  so  extraordinary  a  nature,  that 
I  jocularly  observed  to  the  wits,  of  whom  there  are 
not  a  few  at  Turin,  that  it  seemed  expressly  made  for 
me.  It  was  ushered  in  by  an  almost  incessant  vomit- 
ing for  thirty-six  hours,  and  when  my  stomach  had 
nothing  more  to  reject,  I  was  seized  with  so  violent  a 
hiccough  that  I  could  not  even  swallow  a  single  drop 
of  water.  The  physicians,  dreading  an  inflammation, 


VITTORIO   ALFIEPJ.  187 

ordered  me  to  be  bled  in  the  foot ;  thereupon  the 
efforts  to  vomit  immediately  ceased,  but  were  suc- 
ceeded by  spasms  so  extremely  violent,  that  I  some- 
times struck  my  head  against  the  bolster  of  my  bed, 
and  at  other  times  my  feet  and  elbows  against  every- 
thing that  came  in  my  way.  I  could  neither  take 
drink  nor  food  of  any  kind ;  whenever  a  cup  or  any- 
thing else  was  offered  to  me,  such  was  the  violence  of 
the  spasms,  that  it  was  dashed  from  the  hand  which 
presented  it. 

These  attacks  became  still  more  severe.  If  any 
one  attempted  to  hold  me  by  mere  force,  though  worn 
down  by  sickness,  and  emaciated  by  nearly  four  days' 
fasting,  yet  my  muscles  exerted  energies  of  which 
they  would  have  been  wholly  incapable  in  a  state  of 
health.  I  passed  in  this  manner  five  whole  days, 
during  which  I  swallowed  only  twenty  or  thirty  drops 
of  water  from  the  palm  of  the  hand,  and  which  I 
immediately  rejected.  At  length,  on  the  sixth  day  of 
my  illness,  I  was  put  into  a  warm  bath,  composed  of 
equal  parts  of  oil  and  water.  Here  I  was  kept  for 
six  hours,  after  which  my  spasmodic  paroxysms 
became  much  less  severe.  I  was  enjoined  to  perse- 
vere in  the  use  of  the  same  baths;  and  once  degluti- 
tion was  so  far  restored  that  I  took  a  large  draught 
of  whey,  and  in  a  few  days  the  complaint  wholly  dis- 
appeared. My  long- continued  abstinence,  and  the 
violence  of  the  reaching,  had  been  such  as  to  produce 
a  hollow  between  the  two  small  bones  composing  the 
breast,  of  a  dimension  sufficient  to  admit  a  middle- 
sized  egg  being  placed  therein,  and  which  has  never 
since  been  obliterated. 

This  singular  malady  was  the  mere  effect  of  the 
anguish,  shame,  and  rage  which  constantly  preyed  on 


188  MEMOIKS   OF 

my  mind,  when  I  reflected  on  my  disgraceful  mode  of 
life.  As  I  saw  no  means  of  escaping  these  soul- 
harrowing  reflections,  I  often  invoked  death  to  come  to 
my  aid.  On  the  fifth  day  of  my  illness,  when  I  was 
in  the  greatest  danger,  one  of  my  friends,  -a  very 
worthy  man,  and  somewhat  older  than  myself,  paid 
me  a  visit,  in  order  to  induce  me  to  confess,  and  make 
my  will.  Before  he  uttered  a  word  on  the  subject,  I 
readily  divined  from  his  manner  and  appearance  the 
reason  of  his  visit.  I  immediately  anticipated  him, 
and  without  being  in  the  least  ruffled,  gave  orders 
that  a  priest  and  notary  should  l>e  sent  for. 

During  my  youth,  when  twice  or  thrice  threatened 
with  death,  I  never  felt  myself  appalled ;  I  know  not 
whether  I  shall  act  with  equal  fortitude  when  the  hour 
of  my  dissolution  approaches.  In  fact,  no  man's 
character  can  be  fairly  appreciated  till  after  death. 

My  health  being  re-established,  I  unfortunately 
resumed  the  fetters  of  love,  but  I  had  at  least  the 
courage  to  cast  off  those  which  my  being  in  a  military 
capacity  imposed  on  me.  The  trade  of  arms  and  the 
life  of  a  soldier  were  never  conformable  to  my  char- 
acter ;  but  I  relished  them  still  less  in  a  country  where 
liberty  and  freedom  are  altogether  unknown.  I  waited 
upon  the  colonel,  and  under  the  plea  of  bad  health, 
requested  leave  to  quit  the  service,  to  the  duty  of 
which  I  had  in  reality  never  been  subjected.  Of  the 
eight  years  during  which  I  wore  the  uniform,  I  spent 
five  in  foreign  countries ;  and  during  the  three  others, 
I  had  been  merely  present  at  four  reviews,  two  of 
which  were  only  performed  yearly  in  the  provincial 
militia  regiments  in  which  I  served.  The  colonel 
advised  me  to  reflect  seriously  on  the  step,  before  he 
should  notify  my  resignation  to  the  court. 


V1TTORIO   ALFIERI.  189 

Though  firmly  fixed  in  my  determination,  I  yet 
out  of  mere  politeness  replied  that  I  acquiesced  in  his 
opinion,  and  would  take  a  week  or  two  longer  to  re- 
consider the  subject.  At  the  expiration  of  this  time  I 
again  sent  in  my  resignation,  which  was  accepted. 

Thus  I  dragged  on  a  weary  existence,  ashamed  of 
myself,  and  shunning  the  society  of  all  my  acquaint- 
ances and  friends.  To  my  vivid  imagination  it  ap- 
peared that  my  opprobrium  was  depicted  in  their  coun- 
tenances  One  day  I  began  to  scribble  at  random, 

and  without  any  determinate  plan,  the  scene  of  a  piece 
which  I  know  not  whether  to  consider  as  belonging  to 
tragedy  or  comedy.  It  was  written  in  the  form  of  a 
dialogue  between  a  man  whom  I  denominated  Photin, 
a  woman,  and  a  Cleopatra,  who  enters  some  time  after 
the  other  interlocutors.  I  bestowed  on  the  other  female 
the  appellation  of  Lachesis,  without  recollecting  that  it 
was  the  name  given  by  the  ancients  to  one  of  the  Fates. 

When  I  now  reflect  on  this  attempt,  it  appears  to 
me  so  much  the  more  extraordinary,  as  for  five  or  six 
years  I  had  not  only  never  written  a  single  line  of 
Italian,  but  never  even  opened  a  book  of  any  kind, 
except  very  rarely,  and  that  at  long  intervals.  Thus, 
I  cannot  say  how  or  why,  I  was  impelled  to  write 
these  scenes  in  Italian,  and  in  verse.  When  I  began 
to  sketch  this  piece  I  had  no  other  reason  to  prefer  the 
name  of  Cleopatra  to  that  of  Berenice,  Zenobia,  or  of 
any  other  heroic  queen,  except  it  was  from  being  in 
the  constant  habit  of  viewing  the  superb  tapestries  in 
the  antechamber  of  my  lady,  upon  which  was  repre- 
sented the  history  of  Mark  Antony  and  Cleopatra.  I 
placed  them  under  the  cushion  of  her  sofa,  where  they 
remained  a  whole  year  without  any  one  suspecting  it. 

Disgusted,  and  even  irritated  at  myself  for  the  in- 


190  MEMOIRS    OF 

glorious  life  which  I  led,  I  took,  in  the  month  of  May, 
1774,  the  sudden  resolution  of  visiting  Rome,  in  order 
to  try  if  travelling  and  absence  might  not  cure 
me  of  iny  passion.  I  therefore  availed  myself  of 
one  of  those  violent  disputes  which  very  frequently 
occurred  between  me  and  my  lady,  and  so  without 
saying  a  word  respecting  my  intention,  returned  home 
in  the  evening,  and  immediately  began  to  make  the 
necessary  preparation  for  my  journey,  and  on  the 
morning  of  the  second  day  set  out  for  Milan. 

I  did  not  visit  her  during  this  interval,  but,  having 
probably  learned  my  design  from  some  of  my  domes- 
tics, she  returned  me  my  letters  and  portrait,  as  is 
customary  on  similar  occasions,  on  the  evening  pre- 
vious to  my  departure.  Though  this  occurrence  pro- 
duced some  agitation  in  my  mind,  and  made  me  waver 
in  my  resolution,  I  nevertheless  assumed  sufficient  cour- 
age to  set  out  on  my  journey.  Incessantly  haunted  by 
this  truly  pitiable  passion,  I  had  scarcely  reached 
Novara,  when  cowardice,  sorrow,  and  regret,  triumph- 
ing over  reason,  again  took  possession  of  my  mind, 
and  overturned  my  purpose.  I  sent  forward  my  car- 
riage and  servants  to  Milan,  requesting  the  French 
Abbe,  whom  I  had  taken  as  a  travelling  companion, 
to  wait  for  me  in  that  city,  where  I  would  rejoin  him. 
Taking  a  postilion  for  my  guide,  I  set  out  about 
midnight  on  my  return,  and  reached  Turin  at  day- 
break. Not  daring  to  enter  the  city,  lest  I  should 
render  myself  the  laughing-stock  of  all  my  acquaint- 
ances, I  stopped  at  a  wrretched  inn  in  the  suburbs,  and 
from  thence  wrote  a  very  penitential  letter  to  my 
lady,  very  humbly  craving  that  she  would  grant  my 
pardon,  and  vouchsafe  me  an  audience.  I  \vaited  not 
long  for  her  answer.  My  faithful  Elias,  who  never 


VITTOKIO   ALFIERT.  191 

failed  on  any  occasion  to  palliate  my  faults,  and  who 
had  been  left  behind  to  superintend  my  concerns  at 
Turin  during  my  absence,  brought  me  this  answer. 
My  lady  having  thus  acquiesced  in  the  prayer  of  my 
petition,  I  entered  the  city  by  night,  disguised  like  a 
vagabond,  and  obtained  my  ignominious  pardon. 
]>ofore  again  setting  out  for  Milan,  which  I  did  at  an 
early  hour  in  the  morning,  it  was  agreed  between  us 
that  I  should  return  to  Turin,  in  five  or  six  weeks, 
under  pretence  of  ill-health.  Alternately  rational  and 
imbecile,  I  had  scarcely  set  out,  on  peace  being  sealed, 
than  I  felt  ashamed  of  my  unsteady  and  wavering 
conduct.  I  thus  reached  Milan,  tormented  by  the 
most  poignant  regrets,  and  in  a  state  of  mind  calcu- 
lated equally  to  excite  pity  and  contempt.  I  knew  not 
then  what  experience  has  since  taught  me,  the  truth 
of  the  following  sentiment  of  the  divine  Petrarch  :  — 

"  Che  chi  discerne  e  vinto  da  chi  vuole." 

I  remained  only  two  days  at  Milan,  during  which  I 
was  solely  occupied  in  musing  whether  I  ought  to 
shorten  my  inauspicious  journey,  or  whether  I  might 
not  contrive  to  prolong  it  without  failing  in  the  promise 
I  had  given  to  my  lady. 

Insupportable  as  were  my  chains,  I  had  neither  the 
will  nor  power  to  break  them  asunder.  Finding  sol- 
ace only  in  travelling  and  continual  dissipation,  I  passed 
rapidly  through  Modena  and  Bologna,  and  repaired 
to  Florence.  I  remained  only  two  days  in  this 
latter  city,  and  again  set  out  for  Pisa  and  Leghorn, 
where  I  received  letters  from  my  lady,  and  unable 
any  longer  to  suffer  the  torments  of  absence,  I  took 
the  road  by  Lerici.  Leaving  Genoa,  the  Abbe,  and 
my  carriage,  which  stood  in  need  of  repairs,  I  travelled 


192  MEMOIRS   OF 

post,  and  reached  Turin  eighteen  days  after  setting  out 
on  a  journey  which  was  to  occupy  one  year.  I  entered 
the  city  as  before  by  night,  in  order  to -avoid  the  jests 
of  my  companions, — thus  terminated  this  ridiculous 
excursion,  which  cost  me  many  a  bitter  tear. 

Under  the  segis,  not  of  my  conscience,  which  stung 
me  to  the  quick,  but  of  my  solemn  and  inanimate 
countenance,  I  escaped  the  sarcasms  of  my  friends 
and  acquaintances,  who  ventured  not  to  approach  me 
with  congratulations  on  my  return.  In  fact,  this  re- 
turn was  extremely  unfortunate  for  me  ;  because,  con- 
temptible in  my  own  eyes,  I  fell  into  such  a  state 
of  melancholy  as  would,  if  long  continued,  inevitably 
have  led  to  insanity  or  death. 

I  continued  to  wear  my  disgraceful  fetters  till  toward 
the  end  of  January,  1775,  when  my  rage,  which  had 
hitherto  so  often  been  restrained  within  bounds,  broke 
forth  with  the  greatest  violence. 


XV. 

ON  returning  one  evening  from  the  opera,  the  most 
insipid  and  tiresome  amusement  in  Italy,  where  I  had 
passed  several  hours  in  the  box  of  the  woman  who 
was  by  turns  the  object  of  my  antipathy  and  my  love, 
I  took  the  firm  determination  of  emancipating  myself 
forever  from  her  yoke.  Experience  had  taught  me 
that  flight,  so  far  from  enabling  me  to  persevere  in  my 
resolutions,  tended,  on  the  contrary,  to  weaken,  and 
even  to  destroy  them ;  I  was  inclined,  therefore,  to 
subject  myself  to  a  still  more  severe  trial,  imagining, 
from  the  obstinacy  and  peculiarity  of  my  character, 
that  I  should  succeed  most  certainly  by  the  adoption  of 
such  measures  as  would  compel  me  to  make  the  great- 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  193 

est  efforts.  I  determined  never  to  leave  the  house, 
which,  as  I  have  already  said,  was  exactly  opposite 
that  of  this  lady ;  to  gaze  at  her  windows,  to  see  her 
go  in  and  out  every  day,  to  listen  to  the  sound  of  her 
voice,  though  firmly  resolved  that  no  advances  on 
her  part  either  direct  or  indirect,  no  tender  rernem- 
hrances,  nor,  in  short,  any  other  means  which  might  be 
employed,  should  ever  again  tempt  me  to  a  renewal  of 
our  friendship.  I  was  determined  to  die  or  liberate 
myself  from  my  disgraceful  thraldom.  In  order  to  give 
stability  to  my  purpose,  and  to  render  it  impossible  for 
me  to  waver  without  the  imputation  of  dishonor,  I 
communicated  my  determination  to  one  of  my  friends, 
who  was  greatly  attached  to  me,  and  whom  I  highly 
esteemed.  He  had  lamented  the  state  of  mind  into 
which  I  had  fallen,  but,  not  wishing  to  give  counte- 
nance to  my  conduct,  and  seeing  the  impossibility  of 
inducing  me  to  abandon  it,  he  had  for  some  time 
ceased  to  visit  at  my  house.  In  the  few  lines  which  I 
addressed  to  him,  I  briefly  stated  the  resolution  I  had 
adopted,  and  as  a  pledge  of  my  constancy  I  sent  him 
a  long  tress  of  my  ugly  red  hair.  1  had  purposely 
caused  it  to  be  cut  off  in  order  to  prevent  my  going 
out,  as  no  one  but  clowns  and  sailors  appeared  in  pub- 
lic with  short  hair.  I  concluded  my  billet  by  conjuring 
him  to  strengthen  and  aid  my  fortitude  by  his  presence 
and  example.  Isolated,  in  this  manner,  in  my  own 
house,  I  prohibited  all  species  of  intercourse,  and 
passed  the  first  fifteen  days  in  uttering  the  most  fright- 
ful lamentations  and  groans.  Some  of  my  friends  came 
to  visit  me,  and  appeared  to  commiserate  my  situation, 
perhaps  because  I  did  not  myself  complain ;  but  my 
figure  and  whole  appearance  bespoke  my  sufferings. 
Wishing  to  read  something,  I  had  recourse  to  the  Ga- 


194  MEMOIRS   OF 

zettes,  whole  pages  of  which  I  frequently  ran  over 
without  understanding  a  single  word.  I  rode  out  on 
horseback  in  the  most  solitary  places,  and  it  was  the 
only  exercise  which  proved  salutary  either  to  my  mind 
or  body.  I  passed  more  than  two  months,  till  the  end 
of  March,  1775,  in  a  state  almost  bordering  on  frenzy. 
About  this  period  a  new  idea  darted  into  my  mind, 
which  tended  to  assuage  my  melancholy.  Reflecting 
one  day  on  the  amusement  I  might  derive  from  poetry, 
I  succeeded  with  the  greatest  difficulty,  and  at  different 
times,  in  composing  fourteen  verses,  which  I  denomi- 
nated a  sonnet,  and  which  I  was  anxious  to  send  to  the 
amiable  Father  Paciaudi.  He  sometimes  visited  at 
my  house,  and  had  always  shown  the  greatest  kindness 
towards  me,  without,  however,  dissembling  his  sorrow 
at  seeing  me  wasting  my  time  in  a  state  of  total  inac- 
tivity. This  worthy  man  had  incessantly  exhorted  me 
to  undertake  a  course  of  Italian  reading.  He  had  one 
day  picked  up  at  an  old  book-stall  the  Cleopatra  of  Car- 
dinal Delfino,  which  he  called  sublime,  and,  recollecting 
to  have  heard  me  say  that  it  was  a  tragic  subject,  and 
one  that  I  should  like  to  attempt,  though  I  had  never 
shown  him  my  first  essay,  of  which  I  have  spoken 
above,  he  presented  it  to  me.  In  one  of  my  lucid  in- 
tervals I  had  the  patience  to  peruse  the  whole  of  this 
piece,  and  write  marginal  notes  on  it.  I  returned  it, 
fully  persuaded  that  in  respect  to  the  plot,  and  the 
management  of  the  passions,  it  was  much  inferior  to 
mine,  if  I  had  finished  it  according  to  my  original  plan. 
Not  to  discourage  me,  Father  Paciaudi  imputed  merit 
to  my  sonnet  it  did  not  possess ;  but  some  months 
afterwards,  on  becoming  acquainted  with  our  best 
poets,  I  learned  to  estimate  this  piece  at  its  real  value, 
which  amounted  to  —  nothing.  I  was  greatly  indebted, 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  195 

however,  to  the  undeserved  praises  of  the  good  father, 
which  were  bestowed  with  so  much  benevolence,  since 
they  encouraged  me  to  persevere  till  I  became  more 
worthy  of  them. 

Several  days  before  my  late  rupture  with  my  lady,  I 
had  drawn  my  piece  from  under  the  pillow  of  her  sofa, 
where  it  had  lain  for  a  whole  year.  It  happened  that 
in  one  of  these  hours  of  solitude  and  constant  irritation, 
I  cast  my  eyes  upon  it.  Astonished  at  the  resemblance 
between  the  state  of  my  heart  and  Antony's,  I  said  to 
myself:  "  This  piece  must  be  finished  :  it  must  be  re- 
touched ;  it  cannot  remain  as  it  is :  the  passion  which 
consumes  me  must  be  depicted ;  and  it  may  be  per- 
formed by  the  comedians  who  annually  visit  this  place 
during  spring." 

No  sooner  had  this  idea  passed  through  my  mind, 
than,  forgetting  my  passion,  I  began  to  scribble,  to 
alter,  to  read,  and  re-alter,  and,  in  short,  to  become  a 
fool,  in  another  manner,  for  this  unfortunate  Cleopatra, 
born  under  such  unhappy  auspices.  I  was  not  ashamed 
to  consult  some  of  my  friends,  who  had  not  like  myself 
neglected  to  cultivate  the  Italian  language  and  Italian 
poetry.  I  wearied  all  those  who  could  give  me  any  ad- 
vice, or  throw  any  light  upon  an  art  to  which  I  was  so 
great  a  stranger.  In  this  manner,  wishing  for  nothing 
but  to  learn  and  make  some  progress  in  such  a  bold 
and  hazardous  career,  my  house  became  gradually 
changed  into  a  species  of  academy.  On  acquiring  a 
wish  for  knowledge,  circumstances  had  conspired  to 
render  me  docile ;  but  my  natural  obstinacy  returning, 
I  became  less  attentive  to  the  instructions  which  were 
given  me.  I  wearied  myself  and  others  without  de- 
riving the  smallest  advantage  from  them.  The  only 
good  that  occurred  to  me  from  this  new  whim  was, 


196        ,  MEMOIRS    OF 

that  of  gradually  detaching  me  from  love,  and  of 
awakening  my  reason,  which  had  so  long  lain  dor- 
mant. I  no  longer  found  it  necessary  to  cause  myself 
to  be  tied  with  cords  to  a  chair,  in  order  to  prevent  me 
from  leaving  my  house  and  returning  to  that  of  my 
lady.  This  had  been  one  of  the  expedients  I  devised  to 
render  myself  wise  by  force.  The  cords  were  concealed 
under  a  large  mantle,  in  which  I  was  enveloped,  and 
only  one  hand  remained  at  liberty. 

Of  all  those  w^ho  came  to  see  me,  not  one  suspected 
I  was  bound  down  in  this  manner.  I  remained  in  this 
situation  for  whole  hours ;  Elias,  who  was  my  jailer, 
was  alone  intrusted  with  the  secret.  He  always  lib- 
erated me,  as  he  had  been  enjoined,  whenever  the 
paroxysms  of  my  rage  subsided.  Of  all  the  whimsical 
methods,  however,  which  I  employed,  the  most  curious 
was  that  of  appearing  in  masquerade  at  the  theatre 
towards  the  end  of  the  carnival.  Habited  as  Apollo, 
I  ventured  to  present  myself  with  a  lyre,  on  which  I 
played  as  well  as  I  was  able,  and  sang  some  bad 
verses  of  my  own  composing.  Such  effrontery  was 
diametrically  opposite  to  my  natural  character.  The 
only  excuse  I  can  offer  for  similar  scenes  was  my  ina- 
bility to  resist  an  imperious  passion.  I  felt  that  it  was 
necessary  to  place  an  insuperable  barrier  between  its 
object  and  me ;  and  I  saw  that  the  strongest  of  all 
was  the  shame  to  which  I  should  expose  myself  by 
renewing  an  attachment  which  I  had  so  publicly 
turned  into  ridicule.  Thus  the  dread  of  this  shame 
prevented  ine  from  perceiving  that  I  was  already  over- 
whelmed with  it  in  public.  Nevertheless,  I  felt  myself 
gradually  animated  by  a  passion  hitherto  wholly  un- 
known to  me,  the  love  of  glory. 

In  short,  after  several  months7  constant  poetical  con- 


VITTORIO    ALFIEHI.  197 

sultations,  after  having  ransacked  grammars  and  dic- 
tionaries, after  having  strung  together  a  great  deal  of 
nonsense,  I  collected  live  pieces,  which  I  termed  acts, 
and  entitled  the  whole  a  tragedy.  As  soon  as  the  first 
act  was  ready,  instead  of  throwing  it  into  the  fire,  I  sent 
it  to  the  polite  Father  Paciaudi,  requesting  him  to  exam- 
ine it,  and  give  me  his  opinion  in  writing.  The  notes 
which  he  made  on  these  verses  were  really  amusing; 
and  I  laughed  at  them  in  good  earnest,  though  at  my 
own  expense;  and  among  others,  at  the  following 
(verse  184),  "  The  barking  of  the  heart."  "  This  met- 
aphor/' he  observes,  "  reminds  one  of  a  dog  ;  I  entreat 
you  to  expunge  it."  The  notes  which  he  made  on  the 
first  act,  and  the  advice  which  he  gave  me  in  the  letter 
which  he  sent  on  returning  it,  induced  me  to  digest  it 
anew  with  the  most  indefatigable  patience.  From  this 
labor  sprang  the  tragedy  of  Cleopatra,  which  was 
represented  at  Turin  the  l(Jth  of  June,  1775. 

I  also  composed  a  small  piece  in  prose,  to  be  per- 
formed after  Cleopatra,  and  which  I  entitled  a  The 
Poets."  Nevertheless,  neither  the  small  piece  nor  the 
tragedy,  with  all  their  defects,  was  the  offspring  of  a 
f  >ol ;  some  marks  of  genius  were  discoverable  in  both. 

In  the  Poets  I  depicted  myself  under  the  name  of 
Zeuzippe,  and  in  this  assumed  character  first  satirized 
my  Cleopatra ;  I  invoked  her  shade,  in  order  that  she 
might,  in  company  with  the  other  tragic  heroines,  decide 
on  the  merits  of  my  piece,  which  was  equally  bad  as  that 
of  my  rival  poets.  The  sole  difference  which  existed 
between  their  pieces  and  mine  was  that  the  former 
were  the  productions  of  learned  incapacity,  whereas 
mine  was  the  premature  offspring  of  ignorance,  which 
promised  one  day  to  become  something. 

These  two  pieces  were  represented  two  successive 


198  MEMOIRS   OF 

* 

nights ;  but,  repenting  that  I  had  so  rashly  appeared 
before  the  public,  though  it  was  very  indulgent,  I  used 
every  effort  with  the  managers  to  prevent  them  being 
again  represented.  From  that  eventful  night  a  de- 
vouring tire  took  possession  of  my  soul ;  I  thirsted  one 
day  to  become  a  deserving  candidate  for  theatrical 
fame ;  the  passion  of  love  never  inspired  me  with  such 
lively  transports.  Such  was  the  manner  in  which  I 
first  appeared  before  the  public.  If  my  numerous 
dramatic  works  are  not  found  to  b'e  superior  to  those 
two  first  productions  of  my  pen,  this  ascent  to  Par- 
nassus in,  the  sock  and  buskin  must  doubtless  be  con- 
sidered as  a  piece  of  folly  highly  extravagant  and 
ridiculous;  but  if,  on  the  contrary,  I  am  deemed 
worthy  to  rank  among  our  celebrated  tragic  or  comic 
authors,  this  first  step  must  be  regarded  as  the  most 
important  of  my  whole  life. 

I  shall  here  terminate  the  epoch  of  my  youth.     My 
manhood  could  not  commence  under  happier  auspices. 


FOURTH    EPOCH. 


MANHOOD. 

COMPREHENDING  MORE  THAN  THIRTY  YEARS  OF  MY 
LITERARY  LABORS. 


I. 

|HUS;  then,  at  twenty-seven  years  of  age  did  I 
enlist  myself  in  the  service  of  the  Muses,  and 
appear  before  the  public  as  a  dramatic  au- 
thor. I  shall  now  proceed  to  point  out  the 
resources  I  possessed  to  enable  me  to  support  so  daring 
and  presumptuous  a  flight. 

A  resolute,  obstinate,  and  ungovernable  character, 
susceptible  of  the  warmest  affections,  among  which,  by 
an  odd  kind  of  combination,  predominated  the  most 
ardent  love,  and  a  hatred  approaching  to  madness 
against  every  species  of  tyranny;  an  imperfect  and 
vague  recollection  of  several  French  tragedies  which  I 
had  seen  represented  several  years  before,  but  which 
I  had  then  neither  read  nor  studied  ;  a  total  ignorance 
of  dramatic  rules;  and  an  incapability  of  expressing 
myself  with  elegance  and  precision  in  my  own  lan- 
guage. To  these  were  superadded  an  insufferable  pre- 
sumption, or,  more  properly  speaking,  petulance,  and  a 


200  MEMOIRS   OF 

degree  of  violence  which  seldom  allowed  me  to  investi- 
gate and  perceive  truth. 

With  similar  elements  it  would  have  been  easier  to 
have  formed  a  tyrannical  prince  than  a  man  of  letters. 
At  length  a  powerful  voice  arose  from  the  hottom  of 
my  heart  which  cried  more  energetically  than  that 
of  my  few  friends:  "It  is  necessary  to  retrace  your 
steps  in  order  to  study  grammar  and  the  art  of  com- 
position." In  conformity  to  this  divine  and  powerful 
admonition,  I  at  length  submitted  to  the  hard  necessity 
of  recommencing  the  studies  of  my  infancy  at  an  age 
when  I  thought  and  felt  like  a  man.  But  the  flame  of 
glory  shone  in  my  eyes,  and,  resolving  to  wipe  away 
the  shame  of  my  deplorable  ignorance,  I  assumed  suffi- 
cient courage  to  combat  and  overcome  every  obstacle 
which  opposed  my  progress. 

The  representation  of  Cleopatra  had  not  only  con- 
vinced me  that  the  subject  was  intrinsically  bad,  and 
would  never  be  selected  by  any  one  except  an  ignorant 
author,  but  made  me  perceive  the  immense  space  I  had 
to  traverse  before  I  could  regain  the  barrier,  re-enter 
the  lists,  and  dart  forward  with  more  or  less  chance 
of  success  towards  the  goal.  As  soon,  however,  as 
the  veil  which  obscured  my  sight  was  withdrawn,  I 
solemnly  vowed,  in  my  own  mind,  neither  to  spare 
trouble  nor  fatigue,  in  order  to  render  myself  an  equal 
proficient  in  my  native  tongue  with  the  most  learned 
philologist  in  Italy.  I  assumed  this  resolution,  because 
I  conceived  if  I  once  acquired  a  felicity  of  expression,  I 
should  never  experience  any  difficulties  from  a  poverty 
of  imagination  or  a  paucity  of  ideas.  Having  thus 
bound  myself  by  an  oath,  I  resolutely  plunged,  with 
the  courage  of  a  Curtius,  into  the  abyss  of  grammar. 
In  proportion  as  I  became  convinced  that  I  had  exe- 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  201 

cuted  badly  what  I  had  hitherto  done,  the  more  firmly 
did  I  believe  it  was  iu  my  power  to  perform  it  better. 
I  had  in  my  opinion  a  striking  proof  of  this  in  my  two 
tragedies,  Filippo  and  Polinice,  which  I  had  written 
in  French  prose  three  mouths  before  the  representation 
of  Cleopatra.  These  I  had  read  to  some  of  my  friends, 
who  appeared  to  be  much  struck  with  them.  I  was 
led  to  form  this  opinion  not  so  much  from  the  quantum 
of  praise  which  they  bestowed  on  them  as  from  the 
profound  attention  with  which  they  listened  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end  of  the  performance.  Their  silent 
agitation  and  the  expression  of  their  features  spoke 
even  more  highly  in  my  favor  than  their  words.  Un- 
fortunately, however,  whatever  might  be  the  merit  of 
these  two  tragedies,  they  were  written  in  French  prose, 
and  much  labor  was  requisite  to  transform  them  into 
Italian  poetry.  I  had  sketched  them  in  this  meagre 
and  un pleasing  language,  riot  that  I  knew  it,  or  even 
pretended  to  know  it,  but  because  during  my  five  years' 
travels  it  was  the  only  language  I  heard  spoken,  and 
because  I  explained  myself  in  it  better  than  in  any 
other.  By  my  ignorance  of  language  I  bore  a  striking 
resemblance  to  one  of  those  noted  couriers  of  Italy, 
who,  when  sick  in  bed,  dreams  that  he  runs,  and  wants 
only  his  limbs  to  surpass  his  rivals. 

The  difficulty  of  explaining  or  translating  my  senti- 
ments either  into  Italian  verse  or  prose  was  such,  that 
when  I  read  in  this  language  an  act  or  scene  which 
appeared  to  delight  my  auditors  in  French,  they  no 
longer  knew  it  to  be  the  same,  and  inquired  the  reason 
of  the  change.  Such  was  the  influence  of  other  dresses 
and  decorations,  that  the  same  figure  was  insupportable, 
and  incapable  of  being  recognized.  I  raged,  I  wept, 
but  it  was  necessary  to  assume  patience,  and  begin  my 


202  MEMOIRS   OF 

task  anew.  I  was  obliged  to  ransack  classical  produc- 
tions, however  insipid  and  anti-tragical,  in  order  to 
become  master  of  the  native  Tuscan.  In  short,  it  be- 
hoved me  wholly  to  forget  what  I  had  hitherto  learned 
in  order  to  acquire  it. 

The  fate  of  these  two  tragedies  made  me  lend  a  more 
patient  ear  to  the  judicious  counsels  which  I  received, 
from  every  quarter,  and  induced  me  to  be  present, 
however  painful  it  might  be  to  my  feelings,  at  the 
representation  of  Cleopatra.  Every  verse  the  actors 
pronounced  resounded  in  my  ears,  as  the  most  severe 
criticism  on  a  work  that  from  this  moment  lost  all  in- 
terest in  my  eyes.  Henceforward  I  considered  it  only 
as  affording  a  stimulus  to  future  exertions. 

I  did  not  allow  myself  to  be  influenced  by  the  severe 
criticisms  directed  against  my  tragedies,  when  I  pub- 
lished the  first  edition  of  my  Cleopatra  at  Siena  in 
1783.  But  neither  did  I  any  longer  pride  myself  on 
the  unmerited  praises  which  the  pit  at  Tuiin,  pleased 
perhaps  with  my  youthful  temerity,  seemed  so  well 
inclined  to  bestow  on  me.  Though  from  the  com- 
mencement of  July,  1803,  in  order  to  avoid  conversing 
in  the  French  language,  I  religiously  shunned  every 
society  in  which  it  was  spoken,  yet  I  did  not  succeed 
in  Italianizing  myself.  I  could  never  accommodate  my 
mind  to  progressive  and  regular  study  ;  always  acting- 
in  opposition  to  prudent  advice.  I  inclined  to  soar  anew 
on  my  own  pinions.  On  this  account  I  forced  myself 
to  versify  every  subject  that  occurred  to  my  mind. 
Various  were  the  species  of  poetry  I  attempted.  But 
though  my  pride  was  uniformly  humbled,  yet  obsti- 
nacy and  hope  still  stimulated  me  to  persevere.  Among 
other  rhapsodies,  for  they  deserve  not  the  name  of 
poetry,  I  wrote  some  couplets,  which  I  sang  at  a  meet- 


V1TT01UO   ALFIERI.  203 

ing  of  Freemasons.  They  were  full  of  allusions  to 
the  insignia,  different  orders,  etc.  of  the  .society. 
Though  I  had  already  pilfered  one  verse-from  Petrarch 
in  my  first  sonnet,  yet  such  were  my  ignorance  and  in- 
attention that  I  began  this  piece  without  recollecting 
the  rules  prescribed  in  such  compositions,  which  I  had 
perhaps  never  well  understood.  I  continued  in  this 
error  till  I  reached  the  twelfth  stanza,  when,  some 
doubts  suggesting  themselves,  I  opened  Dante  and  dis- 
covered my  fault,  which  I  avoided  in  the  sequel  of  the 
piece,  leaving,  however,  the  others  as  they  originally 
stood.  In  this  state  they  were  sung  at  the  lodge,  but 
these  Masons,  being  as  little  proficient  in  poetry  as  in 
the  art  of  building,  did  not  perceive  their  defects. 

Finding  during  the  month  of  August,  1775,  that  the 
dissipated  life  to  which  I  was  exposed  in  the  city  pre- 
vented me  from  devoting  myself  entirely  to  study,  I 
retired  to  the  mountainous  district  situated  between 
Piedmont  and  Dauphine.  I  spent  nearly  two  months 
at  Cezannes,  a  small  village  at  the  foot  of  Mont 
Genevre,  by  which,  according  to  some,  Hannibal  pur- 
sued his  way  in  scaling  the  Alps.  Though  naturally 
much  given  to  reflection,  I  was  yet  sometimes  impru- 
dent through  an  impetuosity  of  temper.  Hence  it  did 
not  occur  to  me,  on  assuming  this  determination,  that 
I  should  again  encounter  in  my  retreat  among  these 
mountains  that  same  detestable  French  language  which 
I  wished  so  much  to  avoid.  The  idea  of  thus  secluding 
myself  was  suggested  by  the  same  Abbe  who  had  been 
my  travelling  companion  in  my  last  ridiculous  journey 
to  Florence. 

This  Abbe  was  a  native  of  Cezannes,  possessed  much 
wit,  a  benevolent  disposition,  and  was  well  versed  in 
Latin  and  French  literature.  He  had  acted  as  a  pre- 


204  MEMOIRS   OF 

ceptor  to  two  of  my  companions  at  college,  where  we 
contracted  a  lasting  friendship  for  each  other.  At  that 
period  the  Abbe  sought  to  inspire  me  with  a  thirst  for 
knowledge,  but  his  efforts  were  fruitless. 

Such,  when  I  inhabited  the  first  apartment  of  the 
academy,  was  the  indifference  I  evinced  to  become  a 
dramatic  author.  It  must  be  confessed,  that  ever  after- 
wards the  monotonous  and  insipid  cadence  of  French 
verses  always  disgusted  me.  I  never  could  consider 
them  in  the  light  of  poetry,  either  in  the  days  of  my 
ignorance,  or  when  I  conceived  myself  better  acquainted 
writh  the  subject. 

But  to 'return  to  my  summer  retreat  at  Cezannes. 
Besides  my  literary  Abbe,  a  musical  Abbe  accompanied 
me,  who  gave  me  lessons  on  the  guitar.  But  though 
I  had  a  great  predilection  for  this  instrument,  whose 
sounds  excited  in  my  mind  the  most  rapturous  trans- 
ports, and  inspired  me  with  a  taste  for  poetry,  yet  I 
never  had  the  patience  to  cultivate  it.  Neither  did 
I  excel  on  the  harpsichord,  which  I  was  taught  in  my 
youth,  though  I  possessed  an  ardent  imagination,  and 
an  exquisite  ear  for  music. 

Thus  did  I  pass  the  summer  in  the  society  of  these  two 
Abbes.  While  one  of  them  occasionally  relieved  my 
mind  by  the  concord  of  sweet  sounds  from  the  pain 
occasioned  by  my  application  to  study,  I  wished  the 
other  at  the  devil  with  his  French.  Notwithstanding 
this,  I  spent  my  time  in  a  way  at  once  profitable  and 
delightful.  I  learned  to  retire  within  myself,  and  to 
labor  with  energy. in  rubbing  off  the  rust  which  my 
mind  had  contracted  during  ten  years  of  disgraceful 
torpor  and  inactivity.  I  began  to  translate  into  Italian 
prose  Filippo  and  Polinice,  which  had  originally  been 
written  in  a  pseudo-tongue.  Notwithstanding  all  my 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  205 

efforts,  however,  these  two  tragedies  always  exhibited 
a  mongrel  appearance  of  Italian  and  French,  as  is 
affirmed  by  our  poet  of  burning  paper  :  — 

"  Uii  color  bruno 
Che  non  e  nero  ancora  e  il  bianco  muore." 

Wholly  occupied  with  this  painful  labor  of  convert- 
ing French  conceptions  into  Italian  verse,  I  felt  myself 
excessively  fatigued  by  remoulding  my  Cleopatra  for 
the  third  time.  I  had  read  some  of  the  scenes  of  this 
piece  in  French  to  Count  Tana,  my  dramatic  but 
imgrammatical  censor,  who  considered  some  of  them 
very  beautiful  and  energetic,  particularly  that  between 
Augustus  and  Antony.  When,  however,  they  were 
transformed  into  bad  Italian  verse,  he  viewed  them 
very  differently,  regarding  them  as  even  beneath  medi- 
ocrity. This  he  candidly  told  me,  and  I  believed  him, 
nay,  I  even  felt  it  myself ;  so  true  is  it  that  in  poetic 
composition  style  constitutes  half  its  value,  and  some- 
times, as  in  lyric  poetry,  even  the  whole.  So  that  some 
verses  which, 

"  Col  la  lor  vanita  che  par  persona," 
are  above  others, 

"  Fosser  gemme  legate  in  vile  anello." 

After  translating  my  two  tragedies  into  wretched 
prose,  I  next  began  to  read  and  study,  in  the  order  of 
their  antiquity,  all  our  most  celebrated  poets.  Instead 
of  writing  marginal  notes,  I  merely  contented  myself 
with  making  small  perpendicular  strokes  opposite 
those  passages  with  which  I  was  most  delighted.  As 
I  found  Dante  at  first  too  abstruse,  I  quitted  him  for 
Tasso,  which  till  then  I  had  never  opened.  I  read 
this  author  with  such  attention,  and  so  anxious  was  I 


206  MEMOIRS   OF 

to  unravel  his  meaning,  that  I  often  felt  myself  more 
exhausted  before  getting  through  ten  stanzas  than  if  I 
had  composed  them  myself. 

Gradually,  however,  I  became  habituated  to  this 
laborious  mode  of  study.  In  this  manner  did  I  toil 
through  the  Jerusalem  of  Tasso,  the  Orlando  Furioso 
of  Ariosto,  afterwards  Dante,  and  at  length  Petrarch, 
in  all  of  which  I  wrote  marginal  notes  during  my 
progress.  I  spent  more  than  one  year  in  this  labor. 
When  I  met  with  any  difficulty  in  Dante,  I  gave 
myself  little  trouble  to  understand  him,  if  it  related  to 
a  mere  point  of  history  ;  when,  however,  it  regarded  an 
expression^  a  sentiment,  or  the  turn  of  a  sentence,  I 
essayed  with  all  my  strength  to  comprehend  him.  On 
such  occasions,  when  success  attended  my  attempts,  I 
felt  myself  not  a  little  gratified.  As  soon  as  I  had 
read  these  four  great  poets,  I  immediately  prepared 
myself,  by  subsequent  readings,  to  comprehend  them 
thoroughly,  and  enter  into  their  spirit,  —  an  undertak- 
ing to  which  I  was  probably  stimulated  by  the  idea  of 
one  day  successfully  imitating  them.  Petrarch  seemed 
more  difficult  to  comprehend  than  Dante,  and  at  first 
afforded  me  less  gratification,  since  we  never  receive 
much  pleasure  in  reading  poetical  pieces  which  we  do 
not  readily  understand.  As  I  wished  to  write  in  blank 
verse,  I  hunted  after  the  best  models.  I  was  advised 
to  peruse  the  translation  of  Statins  by  Beiitivoglio; 
but  though  I  attentively  studied  this  work,  and  wrote 
marginal  notes  as  I  proceeded,  yet  the  structure  of  the 
verse  seemed  to  me  to  be  feeble  and  ill  adapted  for 
tragic  dialogue.  The  Ossian  of  Cesarotti  was  the 
next  work  recommended  to  me  by  my  censors  and 
friends.  This  work  attracted  my  notice,  and  I  con- 
ceived that  with  a  slight  modification  it  would  serve 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  207 

as  an  excellent  model  for  colloquial  verse.  I  likewise 
wished  to  read  some  Italian  tragedies,  either  written 
originally  in  this  language,  or  translated  from  the 
French.  From  these  I  hoped  to  derive  some  improve- 
ment, at  least  with  respect  to  style,  but  I  soon  became 
disgusted  with  their  length,  with  the  prolixity  of  the 
sentences,  and  the  construction  of  the  verse,  not  to 
mention  the  poverty  displayed  in  the  conceptions 
throughout.  Among  the  least  exceptionable,  I  read 
the  four  tragedies  which  Paradisi  translated  from  the 
French,  and  to  which  he  subjoined  notes  as  well  as  to 
the  Merope  of  Maffei.  The  style  of  this  last  produc- 
tion pleased  me  much,  particularly  in  some  places, 
though,  according  to  the  standard  I  had  erected  in  my 
own  mind,  it  was  far  from  having  attained  perfection. 
I  inquired  of  myself:  "How  happens  it  that  our 
divine  language,  which  appears  so  bold,  and  even 
sometimes  so  energetical  and  sublime  in  Dante,  should 
become  languid  and  effeminate  in  dramatic  dialogue  ? 
Why  happens  it  that  the  versification  of  Cesarotti, 
which  is  so  nervous  in  his  Ossian,  should  become  so 
prosaic  and  diffuse  in  Semiramis  and  the  Mahomet  of 
Voltaire  ?  Why,  moreover,  does  it  happen  that  the 
pompous  Frugoni,  in  his  translation  of  the  Rhadamiste 
of  Crebillon,  falls  so  much  beneath  his  author,  and 
even  himself?  Certainly  the  fault  cannot  be  justly  im- 
puted to  our  language,  which  is  so  copious  and  ilexible. 
When  I  suggested  these  doubts  to  my  arbiters  and 
friends,  they  were  unable  to  answer  me.  The  worthy 
Paciaudi  recommended  to  me,  however,  in  my  labori- 
ous studies,  not  to  neglect  prose,  which  he  learnedly 
termed  the  nurse  of  verse.  I  remember  that  one  day 
having  brought  me  the  Galatea  of  Casa,  he  advised 
me  to  study  it  with  care,  and  particularly  to  attend  to 


208  MEMOIRS   OF 

the  turn  of  the  style,  which  was  the  purest  Tuscan. 
Though  I  read  it,  like  most  others,  during  iny  youth, 
without  comprehending  or  perceiving  its  beauties,  yet 
I  felt  my  pride  piqued  by  this  scholastic  injunction.     I 
opened  it,  however,  though  with  the  greatest  repug- 
nance ;  but  no  sooner  had  I  read  the  very  first  sentence, 
which  equally  disgusted  me  by  its  pomposity  and  in- 
significance, than  I  flung  the  book  in  a  rage  out  of  the 
window,  exclaiming  like  a  fool:    "What  an  insuffera- 
ble hardship,  if  in  order  to  write  tragedies  I  must,  at 
the  age  of  twenty-seven,  be  condemned  to  read  such 
stuff,  and  harass  my  brain  with  such  trifling  absurdi- 
ties ! "     Father   Paciaudi   only   smiled   at   my   absurd 
warmth,  and  predicted,  notwithstanding,  that  at  some 
future  period  I  should  give  it  more  than  one  perusal. 
Just  so  it  fell  out,  several  years  afterwards,  when  my 
mind  had  become  more  habituated  to  philological  criti- 
cism; not  only  did  I  read. the  Galatea,  and  write  notes 
on  it,  but  also  on  all  our  other  prose  writers  of  the 
fourteenth  century.     The  fact  is,  that  he  who  carefully 
reads  these  works,  and  attends  to  the  style  in  which 
they  are  written,  separating  the  ore  from  the  dross  in 
his  progress,  will  be  enabled  to  impart  to  the  style  cf 
his  own  productions,  of  whatever  nature  they  may  be,  a 
richness,  a  conciseness,  a  simplicity,  and  a  strength  cf 
coloring,  not  to  be  found  in  any  of  the  works  of  the 
present  times.     Probably  few  will  be  found  to  under- 
take such  a  laborious  task,  who  possess  sufficient  spirit 
and  capacity  to  derive  advantage  from  it ;  while  those 
who  possess  not  these   qualities  would  attempt  it  in 
vain. 


YITTORIO   ALFIERI.  209 


II. 

HAVING  devoted  myself  during  six  months  to  the 
study  of  Italian  literature,  I  began,  about  the  com- 
mencement of  1776,  to  experience  an  emotion  of  grief 
and  shame  that  I  had  entirely  forgotten  the  little 
Latin  I  had  acquired  in  the  early  part  of  my  life.  So 
great  indeed  was  my  ignorance  of  this  language,  that 
when  I  met  in  the  course  of  my  reading  even  with  the 
shortest  and  most  common  quotations,  I  was  compelled 
to  pass  over  them.  Having  besides  prohibited  myself 
the  use  of  French  authors,  and  confined  my  studies  to 
Italian  alone,  I  was  thus  deprived  of  all  aid  in  reading 
dramatic  works.  For  these  and  other  reasons  I  was 
induced  again  to  direct  my  attention  to  the  study  of 
the  Latin  tongue,  in  order  to  enable  me  to  read  the 
tragedies  of  Seneca,  some  detached  portions  of  which 
had  enchanted  me  with  their  sublimity.  I,  moreover, 
felt  an  inclination  to  read  the  Latin  translations  of  the 
Greek  tragedies,  which  are  superior  in  every  respect 
to  the  Italian  version.  After  arming  myself  with  for- 
titude, I  engaged  an  excellent  instructor,  who  put 
into  my  hands  the  fables  of  Phsedrus,  which,  to 
his  great  astonishment  and  my  shame,  he  soon  per- 
ceived I  did  not  understand,  though  I  had  explained 
them  when  only  ten  years  of  age.  In  fact,  I  wholly 
mistook  the  sense,  whenever  I  attempted  to  render 
them  into  Italian.  As  soon  as  my  instructor  discov- 
ered the  quantum  of  my  ignorance,  and  knew  the 
firmness  of  my  resolution,  he  exchanged  Phsedrus  for 
Horace,  observing:  u  From  the  difficult  we  will  de- 
scend to  that  which  is  more  easy,  and  this  first  task 
will  be  more  worthy  of  you  5  let  us  commit  trespasses 


210  MEMOIRS   OF 

against  the  prince  of  lyric  poets,  in  order  that  he  may 
render  others  more  intelligible  to  us." 

In  this  way  we  entered  on  Horace,  and  from  the 
"beginning  of  January  till  the  month  of  March,  by 
dint  of  perseverance,  after  much  guessing  and  blun- 
dering, I  succeeded  in  rendering  myself  capable  of  un- 
derstanding all  the  odes  of  this  poet.  This  study  cost 
me  much  labor,  but  it  also  proved  of  the  greatest  util- 
ity, since  it  improved  me  in  a  knowledge  of  grammar 
without  compelling  me  to  relinquish  the  study  of 
poetry.  During  this  period  I  unceasingly  pursued  the 
study  of  the  Italian  poets.  Besides  those  of  the  first 
rank,  and  especially  Dante  and  Petrarch,  which  I  read 
five  times  over  in  the  space  of  four  years,  constantly 
writing  notes  on  them  during  my  progress,  I  likewise 
perused  others,  such  -as  Politian  and  Casa.  I  occasion- 
ally made  some  attempts  in  dramatic  poetry,  and  had 
already  metamorphosed  my  tragedy  of  Filippo  into 
verse.  Though  this  piece  was  much  superior  to  that 
of  Cleopatra,  the  versification  was  yet  languid,  feeble, 
and  prolix.  I  had  reduced  it  from  two  thousand  to 
fourteen  hundred  verses;  still,  however,  the  public 
were  disgusted  with  its  prolixity,  though  it  was  cer- 
tainly rendered,  by  being  thus  compressed,  much  more 
energetic  and  comprehensive  than  as  it  stood  in  the 
original  manuscript. 

The  languor  and  feebleness  of  my  style  made  me 
readily  perceive  that  I  should  never  succeed  in  express- 
ing myself  happily  in  Italian,  while  I  continued  to 
translate  my  own  works  from  the  French.  I  took  in 
consequence  the  resolution  of  travelling  into  Tuscany, 
with  a  view  to  improve  myself  in  the  Tuscan  style.  I 
set  out  with  this  intention  in  the  month  of  April,  1776, 
hoping  that  a  stay  of  six  months  would  serve  to  un- 


VITTOBIO  ALFIE1U.  211 

frenchify  me.  I  soon,  however,  found  that  this  period 
would  be  insufficient  to  destroy  a  habit  which  had 
been  rooted  in  my  mind  for  upwards  of  ten  years. 
Encumbered  with  very  little  baggage,  and  attended 
only  by  a  small  retinue,  I  pursued  my  route  by  the 
way  of  Parma  and  Placentia.  Animated  by  the  hope 
of  acquiring  future  fame,  with  an  edition  of  my  fa- 
vorite poets  in  my  pocket,  I  travelled  only  by  short 
stages,  sometimes  in  my  carriage,  and  at  other  times 
on  horseback.  Father  Paciaudi  introduced  me,  while 
at  Parma,  Modena,  and  in  Tuscany,  to  almost  every 
individual  who  possessed  any  degree  of  reputation  in 
the  republic  of  letters.  I  now  courted  their  company 
as  much  as  I  had  shunned  it  formerly.  At  Parma  I 
became  acquainted  with  the  celebrated  Bodoni,  and  it 
was  at  this  place  1  first  saw  a  printing  apparatus. 
Though  I  had  visited  both  Madrid  and  Birmingham, 
which  could  boast  of  containing  two  of  the  most  cele- 
brated printing-presses  in  Europe,  I  had  never  seen 
a  single  type,  nor  any  of  the  other  utensils  which  were 
destined  either  to  exalt  or  lower  me  in  the  estimation 
of  posterity.  I  could  not  certainly  have  viewed  a 
finer  establishment  than  that  which  I  here  saw,  nor 
could  I  have  met  with  a  man  more,  amiable  and  intel- 
ligent than.  Bodoni.  He  gave  me  all  the  information 
I  could  wish  respecting  an  art  which  he  has  contrib- 
uted so  inucli  to  bring  to  perfection. 

I  thus  every  day  continued  to  emerge  from  the  long 
and  profound  lethargy  in  which  I  had  been  plunged ; 
I  saw  many  things,  and  acquired  much  knowledge, 
though  it  must  be  confessed  somewhat  too  late.  What 
appeared  to  me  most  important  was,  to  ascertain  the 
exact  measure  of  my  intellectual  faculties,  in  order 
that  I  might  not  deceive  myself  with  respect  to  the 


212  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

species  of  literature  which  it  behoved  me  to  cultivate. 
This  study  of  myself  was  not,  however,  so  new  to  me 
as  many  others;  for  I  had  accustomed  myself  at  an 
early  period  not  only  to  reflect  much,  but  frequently 
even  to  commit  my  reflections  to  writing.  I  still  retain 
in  my  possession  a  kind  of  diary,  which  I  regularly 
continued  for  several  months :  in  which  I  noted  down 
not  only  my  habitual  follies,  but  even  my  thoughts, 
and  the  motives  of  my  actions.  This,  while  it  served 
as  a  mirror  to  reflect  my  faults,  enabled  me  at  the 
same  time  to  discover  how  I  might  rectify  them. 

I  had  begun  this  journal  in  French,  but  I  afterwards 
continued  it  in  Italian.  It  was  ill -written  in  both  lan- 
guages, though  it  certainly  displayed  many  striking 
traits  of  originality.  I  soon,  however,  became  weary 
of  it,  and  I  did  well,  for  besides  wasting  my  time  and 
my  ink,  1  found  it  became  of  less  use  to  me  every  day. 
I  mention  this  fact  as  a  proof  of  the  power  I  possessed 
of  discovering  my  literary  capacity  or  incapacity  on  any 
subject.  Being  once  able  to  distinguish  what  I  wanted 
from  the  little  I  inherited  from  nature,  I  proceeded  still 
a  step  farther,  in  order  to  discriminate  among  the  qual- 
ities in  which  I  was  deficient,  those  it  would  be  possi- 
ble fully  or  only  partially  to  acquire,  and  those,  in 
short,  which  were  unattainable  by  me.  If  I  derived 
not  complete  success  from  this  kind  of  study,  I  at  least 
owe  to  it  my  never  having  attempted  any  species  of 
composition  to  which  I  felt  not  a  natural  and  irresisti- 
ble impulse,  —  an  impulse  which,  in  the  fine  arts,  even 
when  the  work  is  not  wholly  successful,  is  readily  dis- 
tinguished from  coercive  efforts,  though  these  may 
sometimes  produce  a  work  regular  in  all  its  parts. 

During  the  six  or  seven  weeks  I  resided  at  Pisa,  I 
conceived  the  plan  of  my  tragedy  of  Antigone,  which 


VITTOKIO   ALFIERI.  213 

I  wrote  in  very  tolerable  Tuscan  prose.  I  transformed 
Polinice  into  verse,  which  was  much  superior  to  that 
of  Filippo.  I  read  the  first  of  these  pieces  to  some 
of  the  professors  of  the  university.  They  appeared  to 
be  very  well  satisfied  with  it,  only  censuring  occasion- 
ally a  few  expressions,  but  without  criticising  it  with 
that  severity  it  deserved.  Though  the  conceptions 
and  versification  were  in  a  few  detached  portions  far 
from  being  unhappy,  yet  the  piece  as  a  whole,  in  my 
opinion,  was  too  languid  and  insipid  to  excite  much 
interest ;  according  to  them,  however,  the  style  was 
sometimes  incorrect,  though  smooth  and  sonorous ;  in 
short,  so  completely  were  our  opinions  at  variance,  that 
what  I  called  languid  and  insipid  they  termed  smooth, 
and  sonorous.  With  respect  to  the  incorrectness  of 
the  style,  this  was  a  mere  matter  of  fact  and  not  of 
taste,  and  therefore  could  afford  no  cause  for  dispute. 

During  my  stay  at  Pisa  I  executed  a  literal  trans- 
lation in  prose  of  Horace's  Art  of  Poetry,  that  I  might 
familiarize  myself  with  his  excellent  and  ingenious  pre- 
cepts. I  likewise  began  to  read  Seneca's  tragedies ; 
but  though  I  perceived  they  were  written  in  opposition 
to  the  rules  of  Horace,  yet  I  was  so  struck  with  some 
passages  of  the  true  sublime,  that  I  endeavored  to 
render  them  into  blank  verse.  This  contributed  not 
only  to  improve  my  Italian  and  Latin,  but  also  my 
powers  of  versification  and  expression.  By  this  em- 
ployment I  perceived  the  great  difference  which  exists 
between  epic  and  iambic  verse,  the  measure  of  which 
alone  is  sufficient  to  enable  us  to  distinguish  colloquial 
poetry  from  every  other  species  of  verse.  I  likewise 
became  sensible  that  for  us,  who  have  only  employed 
the  verse  of  eleven  syllables  in  epic  composition,  it  was 
necessary  to  form  an  arrangement  of  words,  of  sounds 


214  MEMOIRS   OF 

perpetually  varied  and  broken,  of  phrases  short  and 
energetic,  which  distinguish  tragic  from  all  other  kinds 
of  "blank  verse,  as  well  as  from  every  species  of  rhyme, 
whether  epic  or  lyric.  The  iambics  of  Seneca  con- 
vinced me  of  this  truth,  and  perhaps  furnished  me  with 
the  means  of  putting  it  into  practice.  I  remarked  that 
the  boldest  and  most  masculine  strokes  of  this  author 
derived  the  half  of  their  sublimity  from  broken  and 
disjointed  metre.  In  fact,  what  man  is  so  wholly  de- 
void of  sentiment  and  ear  as  not  to  perceive  the  extreme 
difference  between  these  two  verses,  the  one  taken  from 
Virgil,  who  wishes  to  charm  his  reader  — 

"  Quadrupedante  putrem  sonitu  quatit  ungula  campum  " ; 

the  other  from  Seneca,  who  aims  to  astonish  and  strike 
terror  into  the  breasts  of  his  auditors,  by  characterizing 
in  two  words  two  very  different  personages  :  — 
"  Concede  mortem, 
Si  recusares,  darem." 

On  this  account  never  should  an  Italian  tragic  author, 
in  the  most  impassioned  or  dreadful  moments,  put  into 
the  mouths  of  his  dramatis  persons  lines  which  re- 
semble in  sound  the  sublime  verses  of  our  epic  muse  :  — 
"  Chiama  gli  abitator  dell'  ombre  eterne, 
II  rauco  suon  della  tartarea  trornba." 

Convinced  of  the  necessity  of  preserving  a  complete 
distinction  between  the  two  styles,  a  distinction  so 
much  the  more  difficult  for  us  other  Italians,  as  it  is 
necessary  to  confine  ourselves  strictly  within  the  limits 
of  the  same  metre,  I  gave  very  little  attention  to  what 
the  literati  of  Pisa  said  with  regard  to  the  foundation 
of  the  dramatic  art,  or  as  to  the  style  that  ought  to  be 
employed ;  but  I  listened  with  the  greatest  deference 
and  patience  to  everything  which  related  to  gnun- 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  215 

matical  and  Tuscan  purity,  though  the  Tuscans  of  the 
present  day  do  not  excel  in  this  last  respect. 

Thus  then  in  less  than  one  year  I  became  the  pos- 
sessor of  three  other  tragedies,  viz.  Filippo,  Polinice, 
and  Antigone.  The  first  of  these  was  founded  on  the 
story  of  Don  Carlos,  by  the  Abbe  Saint  Real,  a  ro- 
mance which  I  had  read  several  years  before.  The 
Rival  Brothers  of  Racine  furnished  me  with  the  idea 
of  the  second ;  and  Bentivoglio's  translation  of  the 
twelfth  book  of  Statins  suggested  the  groundwork  of 
the  third.  Some  lines  which  I  had  found  in  Racine 
and  others,  derived  from  a  .piece  of  Eschylus,  translated 
by  Father  Brumoi,  determined  me  never  to  read  any 
tragedies  which  treated  of  the  same  subjects  as  those 
on  which  I  undertook  to  write,  that  I  might  avoid  the 
reproach  of  having  pilfered  from  them,  and  that  I  might 
be  certain  that  what  I  did,  whether  well  or  ill  executed, 
belonged  to  me  alone.  He  who  reads  much  before 
entering  on  the  task  of  composition  often  unconsciously 
borrows  from  others,  and  thus  destroys  all  originality. 
This  reason,  therefore,  induced  me  to  give  up,  in  the 
preceding  year,  the  perusal  of  Shakespeare,  a  circum- 
stance which  I  regretted  the  less  because  I  was  obliged 
to  read  him  in  French.  In  proportion  as  this  author, 
to  whose  faults  I  was  not  blind,  pleased  me,  the  more 
necessary  did  I  consider  it  to  relinquish  him. 

After  having  written  my  Antigone,  in  prose,  I  felt 
myself  inspired  by  the  reading  of  Seneca,  and  conceived 
at  the  same  time  Agamemnon  and  Orestes.  Though 
Seneca  furnished  me  with  the  idea  of  these  two  last 
pieces,  I  am  certain,  however,  that  I  borrowed  noth- 
ing from  him.  Towards  the  end  of  June  I  left  Pisa 
and  went  to  Florence,  where  I  resided  during  the  whole 
of  September,  assidupusly  applying  myself  to  acquire 


216  MEMOIRS   OF 

the  vernacular  tongue,  in  which  I  made  considerable 
progress  by  frequently  entering  into  conversation  with 
the  Florentines.  From  that  period  I  began  to  confine 
myself  almost  exclusively  to  this  copious  and  elegant 
language,  a  study  so  essentially  requisite  to  correct 
composition. 

During  my  stay  at  Florence  I  versified  my  tragedy 
of  Filippo  for  the  second  time  :  I  began  it  anew  in 
prose,  without  attending  to  my  former  versification : 
my  progress,  however,  in  this  work  was  so  extremely 
slow,  that  it  even  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  did  not  advance, 
but  remained  stationary.  Having  casually  heard,  one 
day  during  the  month  of  August,  while  in  a  circle  of 
literary  men,  an  historical  anecdote  of  Don  Garcia, 
who  was  murdered  by  his  own  father,  Cosmo  I.,  I  was 
struck  by  the  relation,  and  as  it  had  never  been  pub- 
lished, it  was  transcribed  at  my  request  from  the  man- 
uscript copy  in  the  Archives  of  Florence.  Thus  was  I 
first  led  to  conceive  the  tragedy  which  bears  his  name. 
As  I  had  no  critical  friend  at  Florence  whom  I  could 
consult  occasionally,  like  Count  Tana  and  Father  Pa- 
ciaudi,  my  verses  were  at  first  but  indifferent :  I  pos- 
sessed, however,  sufficient  judgment  and  reason  neither 
to  give  a  copy  of  them,  nor  even  to  read  them,  except  to 
a  very  few  friends. '  This  want  of  success,  however,  in- 
stead of  discouraging,  only  served  to  convince  me  of  the 
necessity  of  perusing  the  productions  of  our  first  poets, 
and  to  fix  them  in  my  memory,  in  order  to  render  my- 
self familiar  with  poetic  forms.  Thus,  during  the 
summer,  I  stored  my  mind  with  the  verses  of  Dante, 
Petrarch,  Tasso,  and  the  three  first  cantos  of  Ariosto, 
being  fully  persuaded  that  a  day  would  arrive  when  all 
these  forms  of  phraseology  would  become  incorporated 
and  identified  with  my  own  thoughts. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  217 


III. 

I  RETURNED  to  Turin  in  the  month  of  October,  not 
that  I  considered  myself  sufficiently  Tuscanized,  but 
because  I  had  not  made  the  necessary  arrangements  to 
enable  me  to  remain  longer  from  home.  I  was  besides 
partly  influenced  in  this  determination,  however  frivo- 
lous it  may  appear,  by  having  left  my  horses  behind 
me.  My  passion  for  riding  had  long  struggled  for  the 
mastery  over  my  attachment  to  the  Muses,  and  the 
love  of  fame  had  not  yet  sufficiently  established  its 
empire  over  my  mind  to  cure  me  of  a  rage  for  amuse- 
ment, which  still  occasionally  detached  me  from  my 
studies.  This  I  could  most  easily  obtain  at  Turin, 
where  I  possessed  an  excellent  house,  acquaintances 
of  every  description,  greater  opportunities  of  dissipation, 
and  more  numerous  friends  than  elsewhere.  Notwith- 
standing such  occasional  aberrations,  I  did  not  relax  in 
my  studies  during  the  winter.  In  order  to  diversify 
my  pursuits  after  finishing  Horace,  I  carefully  read 
several  other  authors,  and  among  the  number  Sallust. 
The  precision  and  elegance  of  this  historian  delighted 
me  so  much  that  I  determined  to  translate  his  work 
with  great  care,  which  I  accomplished  in  the  course  of 
the  winter.  I  received  much  improvement  from  this 
species  of  employment,  as  I  carefully  revised  and  cor- 
rected the  first  rude  version.  I  know  not  whether  the 
work  gained  anything  under  my  hand,  but  I  reaped 
considerable  advantage  from  it,  not  only  by  improving 
my  knowledge  of  the  Latin,  but  by  the  facility  I  ac- 
quired in  Italian  composition.  During  this  period  the 
incomparable  Abbe  Caluso  returned  from  Portugal,  and 
finding  me,  contrary  to  his  expectations,  buried  in  lit- 


218  MEMOIRS   OF 

erature  and  firmly  resolved  to  become  a  dramatic  author, 
he  aided  me  hy  his  advice  and  instruction  with  the 
greatest  condescension  and  benevolence. 

At  the  termination  of  1776  a  circumstance  occurred 
which  gave  me  the  greatest  satisfaction  that  I  had 
experienced  for  a  long  time.  On  going  one  morning 
to  the  house  of  Count  Tana,  to  whom  I  always  carried 
my  verses  with  great  trepidation  as  soon  as  they  were 
finished,  I  presented  him  a  sonnet,  to  which  he  found 
nothing  to  object ;  on  the  contrary  he  praised  it  much, 
saying  to  me :  "This  is  the  first  of  your  productions 
which  is  worthy  of  your  name."  After  all  the  humili- 
ations and  vexation  I  had  suffered  during  a  whole  year 
that  I  had  submitted  to  him  my  detestable  poetry,  which 
in  the  true  spirit  of  friendship  he  had  censured  without 
mercy,  the  joy  which  I  felt  on  listening  to  his  sincere 
though  unexpected  eulogium  may  easily  be  conceived. 
This  fortunate  piece  contained  a  description  of  the 
carrying  away  of  Ganymede,  in  imitation  of  the  beau- 
tiful sonnet  of  Cassiani  upon  the  rape  of  Proserpine. 
It  was  printed  in  the  first  edition  of  my  works.  Stim- 
ulated by  his  praise  to  new  exertion,  I  very  soon  com- 
pleted the  other  two.  I  took  the  subject  from  that 
fable,  and,  like  the  former,  they  were  imitations.  The 
whole  three  may  perhaps  be  considered  as  too  servile  a 
copy  of  the  originals,  but  they  possess  the  merit  of 
being  written  with  an  elegance  and  perspicuity  I  had 
not  hitherto  attained.  They  all  follow  each  other  in 
my  works,  and  though  I  had  kept  them  some  years, 
they  were  printed  as  they  originally  stood,  without  any 
material  corrections.  Tins  dawn  of  success  opened  to 
my  view  a  new  career,  and  I  composed  during  the 
winter  several  other  sonnets  on  amatory  subjects, 
though  they  were  certainly  not  dictated  by  love.  I 


VITTORIO   ALFIEPJ.  219 

began  a  description  of  a  beautiful  and  handsome  woman 
merely  as  an  exercise  in  the  language,  and  to  accustom 
myself  to  rhyme.  I  felt  no  affection  for  any  individual, 
as  may  be  seen  in  the  sonnets  themselves,  which  are 
more  descriptive  than  impassioned.  As,  however,  the 
versification  is  good,  I  have  preserved  them  in  my 
works.  The  intelligent  critic  will  be  there  able  to 
remark  the  gradual  progress  I  made  in  the  difficult  art 
of  composition,  without  which  sonnets,  however  well 
conceived  and  executed,  can  never  be  considered  as 
perfect. 

My  evident  progress  in  poetry,  and  in  the  prose  of 
Sallust,  whose  precision  I  preserved  without  falling 
into  obscurity,  inspired  me  with  the  most  sanguine 
hopes  of  success,  though  I  had  not  yet  been  able  to 
imitate  the  harmony  of  style  which  so  peculiarly  dis- 
tinguishes this  author,  and  which  is  the  true  character- 
istic of  good  prose. 

As,  however,  these  studies  were  only  intended  to 
facilitate  the  acquirement  of  a  correct  dramatic  style,  I 
occasionally  discontinued  them  in  order  to  attempt  the 
principal  object  I  had  in  view.  Thus,  in  the  month 
of  April,  1777,  I  versified  Antigone,  a  labor  which 
scarcely  occupied  me  three  weeks.  From  the  rapidity 
with  which  I  had  perfoimed  this  task,  I  flattered  my- 
self that  I  was  greatly  improved  in  this  species  of 
composition ;  but  scarcely  had  I  read  my  tragedy  in  a 
literary  society  wThich  met  every  evening  than  I  per- 
ceived how  much  I  had  deceived  myself,  though  my 
auditors  overwhelmed  me  with  eulogiums.  I  perceived 
with  the  most  lively  sorrow  how  greatly  I  had  fallen 
short  of  the  model  of  perfection  I  had  proposed  to 
myself.  The  praises  of  my  learned  friends  convinced 
me  that  my  tragedy  was  not  deficient  in  merit,  so  far  as 


220  MEMOIRS   OF 

related  to  the  plot  and  the  conduct  of  the  passions,  but 
my  ears  and  my  judgment  informed  me  that  it  was  ex- 
tremely defective  in  point  of  style.  Of  this  no  person 
could  be  such  a  competent  judge,  at  the  first  reading, 
as  myself.  The  interest,  the  emotion,  and  the  curios- 
ity inspired  by  a  tragedy,  with  the  fable  of  which  we 
are  unacquainted,  prevent  an  auditor,  however  correct 
may  be  his  taste,  from  noticing  the  faults  of  style  and 
composition,  when  they  are  not  extremely  prominent. 
But  I,  who  was  perfectly  acquainted  with  the  piece, 
was  able  to  remark  all  the  weak  or  false  thoughts,  as 
well  as  those  expressions  which  failed  in  justness, 
strength,'  precision,  and  force  of  coloring. 

Persuaded  that  I  should  never  reach  that  degree  of 
perfection  I  had  in  view  while  I  remained  in  Turin, 
where  I  was  frequently  drawn  aside  from  study,  I  in- 
stantly determined  to  revisit  Tuscany,  where  my  lan- 
guage would  necessarily  become  daily  improved ;  for 
though  I  never  uttered  a  word  in  French  at  Turin,  the 
Piedmontese  jargon  in  which  I  conversed  was  ill  cal- 
culated to  improve  my  Italian  style. 


IV. 

I  SET  out  on  my  journey  in  the  month  of  May,  after 
having  obtained  the  royal  permission  to  leave  his  happy 
states.  The  minister  to  whom  I  preferred  my  request 
replied  to  rne  that  I  had  only  been  in  Tuscany  the  pre- 
ceding year,  to  which  I  rejoined  that  this  was  precisely 
the  reason  why  I  wished  to  return.  Permission  was 
accordingly  granted,  but  the  observation  of  the  minis- 
ter suggested  the  idea  of  a  project  which  I  executed 
a  few  months  afterwards,  and  which  rendered  it  hence- 
forth unnecessary  for  me  to  request  a  similar  permission. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  221 

I  proposed  to  prolong  my  stay  in  Tuscany,  and,  min- 
gling some  vanity  with  a  praiseworthy  love  of  glory,  I 
resolved  to  proceed,  attended  by  a  great  train  of  horses 
and  servants.  I  inclined  thus  to  exhibit  the  twofold 
character  of  a  poet  and  a  great  lord,  which  is  by  no 
means  a  common  conjunction.  With  eight  horses,  and 
a  correspondent  number  of  domestics,  I  took  the  road 
for  Genoa,  where  I  embarked  with  my  baggage  and  my 
coach,  and  sent  forward  by  land  my  horses  to  Lerici 
and  Sarzanna,  where  they  arrived  in  safety.  We  had 
arrived  in  sight  of  Lerici,  when  a  contrary  breeze 
springing  up  drove  us  back  to  Rappalo,  which  is  only 
two  stages  distant  from  Genoa.  Here  I  debarked,  but, 
becoming  weary  of  waiting  for  a  favorable  wind,  I  left 
my  baggage  in  the  Mucca,  and,  taking  with  me  a  few 
shirts,  and  my  portefeuille,  which  I  never  trusted  out 
of  my  sight,  I  crossed  all  these  precipices  of  the  Apen- 
nines on  horseback,  attended  by  a  single  servant, 
and  arrived  at  Sarzanna,  where  I  found  my  horses,  and 
where  I  waited  eight  days  for  the  arrival  of  the  felucca. 
Though  I  had  the  amusement  of  my  horses,  yet  as  I 
had  no  books  except  Horace  and  Petrarch  in  my  pocket, 
time  began  to  hang  very  heavy  on  my  hands.  I  there- 
fore borrowed  from  a  priest,  who  was  the  postmaster's 
brother,  a  Titus  Livius,  a  work  which  since  the  time  I 
attended  the  classes,  when  I  could  neither  comprehend 
nor  taste  its  beauties,  had  never  fallen  in  my  way. 
Though  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  the  precision  of 
Sallust,  I  was  nevertheless  struck  with  the  sublimity 
and  majesty  of  Titus  Livius.  I  read  the  character  of 
Virginia,  and  the  animated  discourse  of  Icilius,  and  so 
powerful  was  the  effect  they  produced  on  my  mind  that 
I  instantly  conceived  the  idea  of  a  tragedy,  which  I 
woalJ  certainly  have  finished  on  the  spot,  had  not  the 


222  MEMOIRS   OF 

arrival  of  the  expected  felucca  diverted  iny  thoughts, 
and  put  a  stop  to  my  design. 

I  ought  here  to  explain  to  the  reader  what  is  meant 
by  the  terms  conceive,  develop,  and  put  into  verse,  which 
so  frequently  occur  in  the  course  of  this  work.  All  my 
tragedies,  so  to  speak,  have  been  composed  three  times. 
By  this  method  I  at  least  avoided  the  error  of  too  much 
haste,  which  should  always  be  carefully  guarded  against 
in  such  productions,  since  if  they  are  ill-conceived  at  first, 
it  is  a  fault  not  easily  remedied.  By  the  term  conceive  is 
to  be  understood  the  distributing  of  the  subject  into  acts 
and  scenes,  fixing  the  number  of  the  personages,  and 
tracing  in  two  pages  of  prose  a  summary  of  the  plot. 
By  developing  I  mean  the  writing  dialogues  in  prose 
for  the  different  scenes  indicated  in  this  rude  sketch, 
without  rejecting  a  single  thought,  and  with  as  much 
enthusiasm  as  possible,  without  embarrassing  myself 
with  the  style  or  composition.  By  versifying,  in  short, 
must  be  understood,  not  only  converting  this  prose  into 
verse,  but  also  curtailing  the  exuberances  of  the  style, 
selecting  the  best  thoughts,  and  clothing  them  in  poetic 
language.  After  these  three  operations,  I  proceed, 
like  other  authors,  to  polish,  correct,  and  amend. 
But  if  the  conception  or  development  of  the  piece  be 
imperfect  or  erroneous,  the  superadded  labor  will  never 
produce  a  good  tragedy.  In  this  way  did  I  execute  the 
whole  of  my  dramatic  works,  beginning  with  Filippo, 
and  I  am  convinced  that  this  constituted  more  than 
two  thirds  of  the  labor.  If  on  reperusing  the  manu- 
script, after  a  sufficient  period  had  been  suffered  to 
elapse,  in  order  that  I  might  forget  the  original  distri- 
bution of  the  scenes,  I  felt  myself  assailed  by  such  a 
crowd  of  ideas  and  emotions  as  compelled  me,  so  to 
speak,  to  take  up  my  pen,  I  concluded  that  my  sketch 


YITTORIO   ALFIERI.  223 

was  worthy  of  being  unfolded  ;  but  if,  on  the  contrary, 
I  felt  not  an  enthusiasm  equal  at  least  to  what  I  had 
experienced  on  conceiving  the  design,  I  either  changed 
my  plan  or  threw  the  papers  into  the  fire.  As  soon  as 
I  became  satisfied  that  my  first  idea  was  perfect,  I  ex- 
panded it  with  the  greatest  rapidity,  frequently  writing 
two  acts  a  day,  and  seldom  less  than  one,  so  that  in 
six  days  my  tragedy  was,  I  will  not  say  finished,  but 
created. 

In  this  manner,  without  any  other  judge  than  my 
own  feelings,  I  have  only  finished  those,  the  sketches 
of  which  I  had  written  with  energy  and  enthusiasm ; 
or  if  I  have  finished  any  other,  I  have  at  least  never 
taken  the  trouble  to  clothe  them  in  verse.  This  was 
the  case  with  Charles  I.,  which  I  began  to  write  in 
French  prose  immediately  after  finishing  Filippo. 
When  I  had  reached  to  about  the  middle  of  the  third 
act,  my  heart  and  my  hand  became  so  benumbed  that 
I  found  it  impossible  to  hold  my  pen.  The  same  thing 
happened  in  regard  to  Romeo  and  Juliet,  the  whole 
of  which  I  nearly  expanded,  though  with  much  labor 
to  myself  and  at  long  intervals.  On  reperusing  this 
sketch,  I  found  my  enthusiasm  so  much  repressed  that, 
transported  with  rage  against  myself,  I  could  proceed 
no  further,  but  threw  my  work  into  the  fire. 

By  the  method  above  detailed  my  tragedies,  notwith- 
withstanding  their  numerous  defects,  have  at  least  the 
merit  of  uniformity ;  so  that  the  phrases,  the  thoughts, 
and  the  action  of  the  fifth  act  are  identified  with  the 
thoughts,  the  phrases,  and  the  disposition  of  the  fourth, 
and  so  on  even  to  the  first  verse  of  the  first  act,  which 
naturally  keeps  alive  the  attention  of  the  reader,  and 
imparts  interest  to  the  action  of  the  piece.  By  this 
method,  moreover,  nothing  remains  for  the  author  to 


224  MEMOIRS   OF 

do,  after  expanding  the  plot,  except  clothing  his  senti- 
ments in  verse,  in  separating  the  gold  from  the  lead,  so 
that  the  attention  which  he  bestows  on  polishing  his 
verses  cannot  weaken  that  enthusiastic  inspiration 
which  every  one  should  blindly  follow  who  attempts 
to  delineate  impassioned  or  horrific  subjects.  If  it 
should  be  found  that  I  have  derived  any  advantage 
from  this  mode  of  composition,  this  little  digression 
may  not  prove  wholly  useless  to  future  dramatic  au- 
thors. If,  on  the  contrary,  I  should  have  deceived  my- 
self, a  knowledge  of  my  error  may  lead  others  to  mark 
out  for  themselves  a  better  plan  of  procedure. 

But  to 'return  to  my  narrative.  No  sooner  did  the 
anxiously-expected  felucca  arrive  at  Lerici  than  I  took 
my  baggage  from  on  board,  and  departed  for  Pisa. 
Having  my  mind  fixed  on  the  subject  of  Virginia,  I 
resolved  to  remain  only  two  days  in  this  city,  flattering 
myself  that  I  should  reap  greater  improvement  in 
point  of  language  at  Siena,  where  they  not  only  speak 
better,  but  where  there  is  a  less  influx  of  foreigners.  I 
dreaded,  besides,  meeting  with  a  beautiful,  rich,  and 
noble  lady,  whom  I  might  have  espoused,  with  the 
consent  of  her  parents,  and  with  whom  I  had  nearly 
fallen  in  love  during  my  former  stay  at  this  place.  I 
was,  however,  now  infinitely  wiser  in  this  respect  than 
I  had  shown  myself  to  be  several  years  before  at  Turin, 
when  I  permitted  my  brother-in-law  to  demand  for  me 
the  hand  of  another  lady,  who  in  the  end  rejected  my 
suit ;  for  this  time,  however,  I  was  not  inclined  to  pay 
my  court  to  one  who  I  was  almost  certain  would  not 
refuse  me.  This  connection  would  have  proved  ex- 
tremely convenient  to  me,  not  more  on  account  of  the 
character  of  the  lady  than  from  other  circumstances ; 
and  on  the  whole  she  certainly  did  not  displease  me. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  225 

Eight  years  afterwards,  my  travels  through  Europe, 
the  love  of  glory,  a  passion  for  study,  the  necessity  of 
preserving  my  freedom,  in  order  to  speak  and  write 
the  truth  without  restraint,—  all  these  reasons  power- 
fully warned  me  that  under  a  despotic  government 
it  is  sufficiently  difficult,  even  to  live  single,  and  that 
no  one  who  reflects  deeply  will  either  become  a  hus- 
band or  a  father:  thus  I  crossed  the  Arno  and  ar- 
rived at  Siena.  I  have  always  blessed  the  day  I 
reached  this  city,  since  I  found  in  it  a  circle  of  five  or 
six  individuals  possessing  judgment,  taste,  and  learn- 
ing, an  occurrence  seldom  to  be  met  with  in  such  a 
small  place.  Among  the  most  distinguished  of  these 
was  the  respectable  Francis  Gori  Gandellini,  of  whom 
I  have  several  times  spoken  in  my  different  writings, 
and  a  tender  recollection  of  whose  friendship  will  never 
leave  me  but  with  life.  A  certain  similarity  in  our 
character  and  manner  of  thinking,  which  was  more 
estimable  in  him  than  in  me,  since  we  were  placed  in 
very  different  circumstances,  and  the  reciprocal  want 
of  some  one  to  whom  we  could  unburden  our  hearts, 
animated  by  the  same  feelings  and  passions,  very  soon 
united  us  in  the  most  sincere  and  lasting  friendship. 
I  had  through  life  ardently  longed  for  the  solace  of  a 
true  friend  ;  but  my  stiff  and  abstracted  manners  were 
ill  calculated  to  inspire  this  sentiment  in  others,  while 
it  rendered  me  slow  in  opening  my  heart  to  its  influ- 
ence. On  this  account  I  had  always  very  few  friends, 
but  I  am  proud  to  say  that  those  I  did  possess  were 
better  and  more  estimable  than  myself.  I  sought  in 
friendship  only  the  reciprocal  communication  of  the 
weaknesses  incident  to  humanity,  in  order  that  the 
reason  and  benevolence  of  friendship  might  correct  or 
meliorate  whatever  was  reprehensible,  while  it  strength- 


226  MEMOIRS   OF 

encd  and  ennobled  what  was  laudable  and  praiseworthy 
in  my  character;  such,  for  example,  as  the  weakness 
of  becoming  an  author.  It  was  in  this  respect  that  the 
manly  and  candid  counsels  of  Gandellini  proved  uf  in- 
finite utility  to  me.  The  ardent  desire  I  felt  of  merit- 
ing the  esteem  of  this  worthy  man  imparted  new  energy 
to  my  imagination,  and  suffered  me  to  enjoy  neither 
tranquillity  nor  repose  till  I  had  rendered  my  produc- 
tions worthy  of  his  approbation.  It  was  this  invaluable 
friend  who  suggested  to  me  the  idea  of  taking,  as  the 
groundwork  of  a  tragedy,  the  Conspiracy  of  the  Pazzi. 

I  was  unacquainted  with  this  fact,  and  he  ad  vised  me 
to  take  it  from  Machiavel  in  preference  to  every  other 
historian.  Thus,  by  a  strange  combination  of  circum- 
stances, this  author,  who  at  a  future  period  afforded  me 
so  much  delight,  was  given  to  me  by  another  sincere 
friend,  who  resembled  in  many  respects  my  dear 
D'Acunha,  though  possessed  of  greater  learning  and 
more  profound  erudition.  In  fact,  though  I  was  not 
sufficiently  prepared  to  read  the  whole  of  Machiavel,  I 
eagerly  devoured  a  great  many  other  passages  besides 
the  relation  of  the  conspiracy  above  mentioned :  thus 
I  not  only  instantly  conceived  my  tragedy,  but,  de- 
lighted with  the  copious,  original,  and  nervous  style 
of  the  author,  I  felt  myself  unable  to  resume  my  other 
studies,  and  proceeded  to  write  the  two  books  on  Tyr- 
anny, such  as  they  were  printed  several  years  after- 
wards. 

If  I  had  treated  this  subject  anew  at  a  more  advanced 
period  of  my  life,  I  might  have  displayed  more  erudi- 
tion, and  fortified  my  opinions  by  the  authority  of  his- 
tory; but  I  was  disinclined  when  I  printed  these  pieces 
to  enfeeble,  by  the  frost  of  years,  and  the  pedantry  of 
my  little  learning,  the  fire  of  youth,  and  that  noble  and 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  227 

just  indignation  which  I  believe  is  visible  in  every 
page,  without  being  deficient  in  just  and  forcible  rea- 
soning, which,  if  I  deceive  not  myself,  is  the  charac- 
teristic feature  in  this  little  piece. 

V. 

HAVING  thus  unburdened  my  mind  of  the  innate 
hatred  I  felt  against  tyranny,  I  put  my  little  piece 
aside,  after  reading  it  to  some  of  my  friends,  and 
thought  no  more  of  it.  I  resumed  the  buskin,  and 
developed  with  great  rapidity  Agamemnon,  Virginia, 
and  Orestes.  With  respect  to  the  last,  I  had  enter- 
tained a  contemptible  scruple  which  my  friend  very 
soon  dissipated.  I  had  conceived  the  idea  of  this 
tragedy  the  year  before  while  I  was  at  Pisa,  from 
reading  the  detestable  Agamemnon  of  Seneca.  In  the 
winter,  when  turning  over  my  books  at  Turin,  I 
opened  by  chance  a  volume  of  Voltaire's  tragedies : 
the  first  words  which  struck  my  eyes  were,  "  Tragedy 
of  Orestes."  I  instantly  shut  the  book,  piqued  at  find- 
ing a  competitor  among  the  moderns.  Some  men 
of  letters,  to  whom  I  mentioned  the  circumstance, 
assured  me  that  it  was  one  of  the  best  tragedies  of  this 
author,  which  disgusted  me  with  my  own.  After  hav- 
ing, while  at  Siena,  sketched  my  Agamemnon  with- 
out even  opening  that  of  Seneca,  lest  I  should  become  a 
plagiarist,  in  depicting  the  character  of  Orestes,  I  con- 
sulted my  friend  on  this  subject,  and  requested  him  to 
give  me  Orestes,  that  I  might  peruse  it  before  proceed- 
ing with  my  own.  But  G-andellini  refused  my  request, 
saying  to  me:  u  Write  your  piece  without  reading  that 
of  the  French  author ;  if  you  possess  genius  for  a 
dramatic  writer,  it  will  either  be  worse,  better,  or 


228  MEMOIRS   OF 

equal  to  Voltaire's,  but  it  will  at  least  be  your  own." 
I  followed  this  sage  and  dignified  advice;  and  since 
that  period  it  has  been  a  rule  from  which  I  have  never 
deviated.  Whenever  I  choose  a  subject  that  has  been 
previously  adopted  by  a  modern  author,  I  never  peruse 
his  work  till  after  finishing  my  own.  If  I  should  have 
accidentally  witnessed  their  representation,  I  endeavor 
as  much  as  possible  to  forget  them,  or,  if  I  find  this 
impossible,  to  pursue  a  route  contrary  to  theirs.  By 
this  method,  if  my  productions  be  not  perfect,  they 
have  at  least  the  garb  and  appearance  of  originality. 

The  five  months  which  I  passed  at  Siena  proved 
extremely  salutary  to  my  mind.  Besides  the  works  of 
wThich  I  have  spoken,  I  continued  the  study  of  the 
Latin  classics ;  and  among  others  Juvenal,  which  I  read 
as  frequently  as  I  had  done  Horace.  As  the  winter  at 
Siena  is  rather  disagreeable,  and  as,  moreover,  I  was  not 
wholly  cured  of  a  desire  to  roam  from  place  to  place,  I 
determined  in  the  month  of  October  to  visit  Florence, 
without,  however,  being  fully  resolved  whether  I  should 
pass  the  winter  there  or  return  to  Turin.  Scarcely,  how- 
ever, had  I  arrived  in  that  city,  with  the  intention  of  re- 
maining a  month,  or  longer,  as  it  should  prove  agree- 
able, than  an  event  occurred  which  induced  me  to  take 
up  my  residence  in  it  for  several  years,  —  an  event  which 
fortunately  determined  me  to  abjure  my  native  country, 
and  thus  acquire  literary  liberty,  without  which  I 
should  never  have  produced  any  valuable  work,  if  in- 
deed any  of  my  works  may  be  deemed  worthy  of  such 
an  appellation. 

During  the  preceding  summer,  which  I  passed  at 
Florence,  I  had  frequently  seen  'a  beautiful,  amiable, 
and  very  distinguished  foreigner.  It  was  impossible 
not  to  meet  and  remark  this  lady,  and  still  more  im- 


VITTOKIO   ALFIERI.  229 

possible  not  to  seek  to  please  when  once  in  her  com- 
pany. Though  a  great  number  of  the  Florentine 
nobility,  as  well  as  most  foreigners  of  distinction  visited 
at  her  house,  yet  being  always  anxious,  from  my  re- 
served and  backward  character,  to  avoid  the  society  of 
beautiful  and  accomplished  women,  I  declined  an  in- 
troduction, and  contented  myself  with  -meeting  her  at 
the  theatres  and  public  walks.  The  first  impression 
she  made  on  me  was  infinitely  agreeable.  Large  black 
eyes,  full  of  fire  and  gentleness,  joined  to  a  fair  com- 
plexion and  flaxen  hair,  gave  to  her  beauty  a  brilliancy 
it  was  difficult  to  withstand.  Twenty-five  years  of 
age,  possessing  a  taste  for  letters  and  the  fine  arts,  an 
amiable  character,  an  immense  fortune,  and  placed 
in  domestic  circumstances  of  a  very  painful  nature, 
how  was  it  possible  to  escape  where  so  many  reasons 
existed  for  loving  I 

During  the  autumn 'one  of  my  friends  offered  several 
times  to  introduce  me  at  her  house.  I  believed  myself 
sufficiently  fortified  against  her  charms,  but  I  was 
soon  unconsciously  caught  in  the  toils  of  love.  Still 
irresolute  whether  to  resist  or  yield  to  this  new  passion, 
I  took  post  in  the  month  of  December,  and  proceeded 
to  Rome.  This  foolish  and  fatiguing  journey  gave 
rise  to  my  sonnet  on  Rome,  which  I  composed  in  a 
wretched  inn  at  Baccana,  where  I  could  not  shut  my 
eyes.  This  journey  occupied  me  only  twelve  days. 
Both  in  going  and  returning,  I  passed  through  Siena, 
and  visited  my  friend  Gandellini,  who  disapproved  not 
of  the  new  chains  which  he  perceived  I  was  forging  for 
myself,  and  which  became  strongly  riveted  on  my  re- 
turn to  Florence.  This  fourth  and  last  passion  mani- 
fested itself  by  very  different  symptoms  from  the  others. 
In  the  three  former  the  mind  had  no  share,  but  in  the 


230  MEMOIRS   OF 

present  instance  a  sentiment  of  esteem,  mingling  with 
love,  rendered  this  passion,  if  less  impetuous,  at  least 
more  profound  and  durable.  Such  was  the  love  which 
henceforward  animated  and  held  dominion  over  my 
mind,  and  which  will  only  terminate  with  my  existence. 
I  soon  perceived  that  the  object  of  my  present  attach- 
ment, far  from  impending  my  progress  in  the  pursuit 
of  useful  knowledge,  or  deranging  my  studies,  like  the 
frivolous  women  with  whom  I  was  formerly  enamored, 
urged  me  on  by  her  example  to  everything  dignified 
and  praiseworthy.  Having  once  learned  to  know  and 
appreciate  so  rare  and  valuable  a  friend,  I  yielded  my- 
self up  entirely  to  her  influence.  I  deceived  not  my- 
self; twelve  years  afterwards,  at  the  moment  I  am 
writing,  and  at  an  age  when  the  illusions  of  the  pas- 
sions have  ceased  to  operate,  I  feel  that  I  become  daily 
more  attached  to  her,  in  proportion  as  time  destroys 
the  brilliancy  of  her  fleeting  beauty,  the  only  charm 
which  she  owes  not  to  herself.  Whenever  I  reflect  on 
her  virtues,  my  soul  is  elevated,  improved,  and  tran- 
quillized, and  I  dare  to  affirm  that  the  feelings  of  her 
mind,  which  I  have  uniformly  endeavored  to  fortify 
and  confirm,  are  not  dissimilar  to  my  own. 


VI. 

CALM  and  tranquil,  I  then  began  to  labor  like  a  man 
who  had  at  last  attained  the  object  of  his  wishes.  I 
resolved  never  again  to  quit  Florence,  while  the  object 
of  my  affection  remained  in  it.  This  determination 
rendered  it  necessary  that  I  should  execute  a  project 
which  I  had  entertained  for  some  time. 

I  had  always  felt  the  weight  of  those  chains  intol- 
erable writh  which  I  was  bound  to  my  country,  and 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  231 

especially  those  which  ohliged  the  possessors  of  fiefs 
to  oh  tain  permission  of  the  king  before  they  could 
leave  the  kingdom  for  however  short  a  period.  This 
permission,  which  was  sometimes  obtained  with  diffi- 
culty, and  granted  with  a  had  grace,  was  always 
limited.  I  had  already  requested  this  permission  four 
or  five  times,  and  although  I  had  never  been  refused  it, 
yet  I  could  not  reconcile  myself  to  the  steps  which  were 
requisite  to  obtain  it.  This  law  I  considered  unjust 
in  its  principle,  since  neither  younger  sons,  nor  the 
citizens  of  any  class,  when  not  in  business,  were  sub- 
jected to  it.  My  repugnance  to  this  species  of  tyranny 
became  greater  as  I  advanced  in  years.  The  last  time 
I  had  obtained  this  permission,  it  was  accompanied 
with  some  expressions  which  gave  me  much  vexation. 
Besides,  the  number  of  my  works  had  gradually  in- 
creased :  Virginia,  which  I  had  written  with  all  the 
freedom  that  the  subject  required ;  the  work  on  Tyranny 
dictated  by  an  author  who  should  have  lived  in  a  coun- 
try really  free  ;  the  emotions  of  pleasure  I  had  felt  on 
perusing  Tacitus,  Machiavel,  and  the  few  other  authors 
who  like  them  think  with  energy  and  freedom ;  the 
knowledge  of  my  pursuits,  and  the  impossibility  of 
remaining  at  Turin,  if  I  inclined  to  publish  any 
work  inimical  to  the  existing  tyranny ;  the  danger 
which  I  should  experience  by  remaining  subject  to  the 
laws  of  Sardinia,  wherever  I  might  be,  if  I  printed 
anything  of  this  kind,  even  in  foreign  countries,  —  all 
these  reasons,  conjoined  to  the  passion  I  had  happily 
imbibed,  determined  me  to  expatriate  myself,  and  re- 
linquish forever  a  country  which  had  given  me  birth, 
but  which  despotism  had  rendered  an  unfit  abode  for 
one  resolved  to  think  for  himself. 

Several  means  of  executing  this  project  presented 


232  MEMOIRS   OF 

themselves.  I  might  have  endeavored  to  get  my  per- 
mission prolonged  from  year  to  year,  which  perhaps 
would  have  been  the  wisest  measure ;  hut  I  could  not 
endure  a  state  of  uncertainty ;  and  how  could  I  reckon 
on  that  which  depended  on  the  will  of  others  ?  I  might, 
by  means  of  finesse  and  chicanery,  have  disposed  of  my 
property  by  clandestine  sales,  in  order  to  escape  from 
my  noble  prison.  But  these  means  I  regarded  as  dis- 
honorable; and  they  displeased  me,  perhaps  also  be- 
cause they  were  not  in  extremes.  Accustomed,  besides, 
from  my  character  to  put  all  to  the  hazard,  I  firmly 
resolved  to  terminate  this  affair  at  once,  to  which  I 
must  again  and  again  have  recurred,  unless  I  had  re- 
nounced the  glory  of  becoming  an  independent  author. 
Once  determined,  I  exerted  all  my  strength  to  attain 
the  object  I  had  in  view,  and  I  did  well,  though  at  the 
time  I  acted  more  perhaps  under  the  influence  of  my 
ardent  feelings  than  of  reason.  Certain  it  is,  that  had 
I  not  adopted  prompt  measures,  or  if  I  had  begun  to 
print  even  the  most  harmless  writings  in  any  other 
state,  the  thing  would  have  become  impossible,  &nd 
my  subsistence,  my  glory,  and  my  liberty  would  have 
remained  subject  to  the  will  of  an  absolute  prince,  who, 
necessarily  wounded  by  my  manner  of  thinking  and 
writing,  and  my  free  and  uncourteous  behavior,  would 
never  have  consented  to  allow  me  to  escape  from  his 
power. 

A  law  existed  at  this  time  in  Piedmont  which  ran 
thus :  "It  is  enacted  that  no  one  shall  print  books  or 
other  writings  out  of  our  states,  without  permission  of 
our  censors,  under  the  pain  of  incurring  a  fine  of  sev- 
enty crowns,  or  corporal  punishment,  if  circumstances 
render  it  necessary  to  exhibit  a  public  example."  To 
this  law  is  subjoined  another  still  more  iniquitous, 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  233 

worded  in  the  following  manner:  "Those  subjects 
who  inhabit  our  states  shall  never  absent  themselves 
without  our  express  authority  in  writing."  Hence  it  is 
evident,  I  could  not  be  both  a  subject  of  his  majesty  of 
Sardinia  and  an  author.  I  chose  the  latter,  and,  being 
an  enemy  to  all  chicane  and  subterfuge,  I  took  the 
most  direct  road  to  disfranchise  myself,  by  resigning 
the  whole  of  my  property  to  my  sister  Julia,  who  had 
married  Count  Cumiana.  This  resignation  was  ex- 
ecuted in  the  most  solemn  and  irrevocable  manner.  I 
only  reserved  to  myself  an  annuity  of  fourteen  thousand 
livres  of  Piedmont,  which  amounted  to  little  more  than 
one  half  of  my  original  revenues.  I  would  even  have 
been  contented  to  resign  the  other  half  to  have  pur- 
chased the  freedom  of  thinking  and  writing,  and  the 
liberty  of  choosing  my  place  of  residence.  It  is  im- 
possible to  convey  an  adequate  idea  of  the  delays  and 
embarrassments  I  experienced  before  I  could  terminate 
this  affair ;  the  legal  forms  and  the  necessity  of  trans- 
acting the  business  by  letter,  occupied  much  time.  It 
was  necessary,  besides,  to  obtain  the  usual  permission 
from  the  king,  who  interfered  in  all  the  domestic  con- 
cerns of  his  subjects.  It  was  also  requisite  that  my 
brother-in-law  should  receive  the  royal  permission  to 
accept  this  gift,  and  to  remit  my  annuity  to  any  country 
where  I  might  fix  my  abode.  The  least  clear-sighted 
perceived  that  I  could  have  no  other  reasons  for  this 
donation  but  a  desire  to  expatriate  myself.  It  was  con- 
sequently absolutely  necessary  that  permission  should 
also  be  obtained  from  the  government,  which  might 
otherwise  have  opposed  its  payment  in  a  foreign 
country.  Happily  the  king,  who  certainly  knew  my 
peculiar  mode  of  thinking,  of  which  I  had  afforded  the 
most  unequivocal  proofs,  was  better  pleased  that  I 


234  MEMOIRS   OF 

should  leave  his  states  than  remain  in  them  ;  he  there- 
fore immediately  consented  to  my  request  ;  we  were 
both  well  pleased,  he  to  lose  such  a  subject,  and  I  to 
acquire  my  liberty. 

I  cannot  help  here  mentioning  a  strange  circumstance 
in  order  to  console  my  enemies,  and  make  those  laugh 
at  my  expense,  who  on  examining  themselves  more 
nearly  should  discover  that  they  are  either  less  mad 
or  less  childish  than  I  was.  To  those  who  make  the 
human  heart  their  study,  it  will  prove,  that  in  the  same 
character,  at  least  in  mine,  the  weakness  of  the  dwarf 
is  sometimes  found  united  with  the  strength  of  the 
giant.  The  fact  is,  that  even  at  the  period  when  I 
wrote  Virginia  and  the  work  on  Tyranny;  when  I 
broke  the  inglorious  chains  which  bound  me  to  my 
native  country,  I  continued  to  wear  the  uniform  of  the 
King  of  Sardinia,  though  I  had  left  his  service  for  more 
than  four  years.  What  will  philosophers  say,  when  I 
frankly  acknowledge  the  reason  of  this?  It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  looked  better  and  handsomer  in  this  than  in 
any  other  dress.  Laugh,  readers;  you  have  reason, 
and  if  you  think  proper,  add  that,  like  a  child,  I  was 
more  anxious  to  appear  to  advantage  in  the  eyes  of 
others  than  estimable  in  my  own. 

The  settlement  of  my  affairs  had  been  protracted  on 
various  pretences,  from  the  month  of  January  till  No- 
vember, 1778;  and  this  desirable  event  was  still  farther 
delayed  by  my  wishing  to  obtain  from  my  sister  the 
sum  of  one  hundred  thousand  livres  at  once,  in  lieu  of 
the  annual  revenue  of  five  thousand.  This  second  con- 
tract experienced  more  opposition  than  the  first.  The 
consent  of  his  majesty  being,  however,  once  obtained, 
I  placed  the  sum  along  witli  some  others  in  the  French 
funds;  not  that  I  had  more  confidence  in  his  most 


VITTOKIO   ALFIERI.  235 

Christian  majesty  than  I  had  in  the  King  of  Sardinia, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  that  in  thus  disposing  of  my 
property  I  would  be  more  secure  of  an  independence. 

This  was  an  epoch  as  important  to  me  as  that  in 
which  I  made  the  gift,  and  I  have  always  thought  the 
idea  and  the  consequences  which  resulted  from  it  ex- 
tremely fortunate.  I  did  not  communicate  to  my  Mr 
friend  the  design  I  had  in  view,  till  the  contract  was 
solemnly  ratified.  I  did  not  wish  to  put  her  delicacy 
to  the  test,  nor  force  her  to  disapprove  my  proceedings 
as  contrary  to  my  interest,  or  to  approve  them  as  in 
many  respects  necessary  to  the  duration  of  our  attach- 
ment. This  determination  was  in  fact  the  only  one 
which  could  enable  me  to  remain  near  her.  On  being 
made  acquainted  with  my  proceedings,  she  blamed  me 
with  that  ingenuous  candor  for  which  she  was  so  dis- 
tinguished. But  as  the  affair  was  settled  beyond  re- 
call, it  was  necessary  to  reconcile  herself  to  what  had 
happened,  and  she  pardoned  me  for  not  having  sooner 
informed  her  of  this  transaction ;  perhaps  she  loved  me 
better  for  my  delicate  silence  :  it  was  certainly  impos- 
sible she  could  esteem  me  less  on  this  account.  During 
this  period  I  was  anxiously  endeavoring  to  facilitate 
the  conclusion  of  my  business  in  Turin,  determined, 
whatever  might  be  the  consequence,  to  overcome  every 
obstacle  that  was  thrown  in  my  way  by  the  king,  the 
laws,  and  my  relations.  I  gave  orders  to  Elias,  whom 
I  had  left  at  Turin,  to  dispose  of  my  furniture  and 
silver  plate.  By  his  unremitting  assiduity  he  realized 
in  two  months  six  thousand  sequins,  for  which  I  desired 
him  to  obtain  bills  of  exchange  payable  on  Leghorn. 
By  some  accident  three  weeks  elapsed  between  the 
writing  of  my  letter,  and  the  execution  of  the  orders 
contained  in  it,  during  which  I  neither  received  any 


236  MEMOIRS   OF 

communication  from  Turin,  nor  a  letter  of  advice  from 
my  banker.  Though  of  a  character  naturally  devoid 
of  suspicion,  I  could  not  wholly  divest  my  mind  of  it 
in  the  present  instance,  especially  as  Elias  had  on 
every  other  occasion  displayed  the  greatest  prompti- 
tude and  exactness.  Distrust  being  thus  excited,  my 
ardent  imagination  made  me  regard  as  certain  an  event 
which  was  only  possible.  During  fifteen  days  I  was 
firmly  persuaded  that  the  six  thousand  sequins  had 
disappeared  along  with  the  good  opinion  which  my 
faithful  domestic  had  so  justly  inspired.  Supposing 
this  to  have  been  the  case,  I  found  myself  in  the  most 
perplexing  situation  imaginable ;  the  affair  with  my 
sister  was  not  fully  arranged ;  my  brother-in-law  con- 
tinued to  throw  new  difficulties  in  the  way  of  a  settle- 
ment, and  this  was  always  done  in  the  name  of  the 
king.  I  at  length  became  so  indignant  at  this  un- 
worthy treatment,  that  I  intimated  to  Count  Cumiana 
that  if  he  did  not  choose  to  accept  of  the  donation,  he 
had  only  to  take  possession  of  my  property,  as  it  was 
my  fixed  determination  never  to  return  to  my  country, 
and  that  I  held  their  king  and  their  money  in  equal 
contempt.  I  was,  in  short,  perfectly  determined  to  ex- 
patriate myself,  even  at  the  risk  of  becoming  a  beggar. 
In  this  painful  state  of  uncertainty  pale  Misery  already 
presented  herself  before  my  eyes.  In  the  delirium  of 
my  imagination,  ever  fertile  in  conjuring  up  gloomy 
ideas,  the  mode  of  procuring  a  subsistence  which  most 
frequently  occurred  to  me  was  that  of  commencing 
horse-breaker,  in  which  I  believed  myself  to  be  an 
adept.  It  seemed  to  me  that  this  would  be  less  slav- 
ish, and  that  I  could  join  with  it  poetry,  as  it  is  more 
easy  to  write  tragedies  in  a  stable  than  in  a  court. 
Fortunately,  however,  the  bills  of  exchange  from  Elias 
at  length  arrive<}. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  237 

Before  experiencing  all  these  chimerical  afflictions, 
I  had,  as  soon  as  the  deed  of  gift  was  executed,  sent 
hack  all  my  domestics  except  one  and  a  cook,  and 
these  I  parted  with  a  short  time  afterwards.  Though 
I  had  always  heen  very  moderate  in  the  indulgences  of 
the  table,  I  contracted  from  this  period  the  salutary 
habit  of  the  strictest  sobriety.  I  wholly  left  off  the 
use  of  wine,  coffee,  and  similar  luxuries.  I  confined 
myself  to  the  use  of  baked  or  boiled  rice  for  several 
years. 

With  respect  to  my  horses,  I  had  sent  four  of  them 
to  Turin,  to  be  sold  along  with  those  I  had  left  in  that 
city.  I  made  a  present  of  four  others  to  some  Floren- 
tine nobles,  who  in  fact  were  only  casual  acquaintances, 
but  who,  possessing  less  pride  than  myself,  accepted  rny 
gift.  I  presented  my  clothes  to  my  valet,  for  it  was 
at  this  period  that  I  sacrificed  my  Sardinian  uniform. 
Henceforward  I  dressed  in  black  in  the  evening,  and 
wore  dark  blue  in  the  morning,  colors  which  I  have 
never  since  relinquished,  and  which  I  will  continue  to 
wear  through  life.  Thus  I  gradually  restricted  myself 
to  the  most  simple  necessaries,  so  that  my  avarice  re- 
turned with  the  relinquish ment  of  my  property. 

Thus  prepared  for  every  possible  event,  I  placed 
my  six  thousand  sequins  in  the  French  funds;  and 
as  I  had  always  a  tendency  to  run  into  extremes,  I 
carried  my  economy  so  far,  that  at  length  it  degen- 
erated into  almost  sordid  avarice :  I  say  almost,  for 
I  still  continued  daily  to  change  my  linen,  and  to  pay 
the  most  minute  attention  to  my  person  :  but  had  my 
stomach  been  consulted  in  writing  this  life,  it  would 
have  cancelled  the  word  almost,  and  substituted  very 
sordid  in  its  room.  This  I  believe  was  the  second 
and  last  fit  of  this  shameful  vice,  which  contracts  and 


238  MEMOIRS   OF 

degrades  the  mind.  Although  I  was  perpetually  en- 
deavoring to  devise  some  new  modes  of  retrenchment, 
I  yet  laid  out  considerable  sums  of  money  in  the  pur- 
chase of  books.  I  procured  all  our  best  Italian  works, 
and  a.  great  number  of  the  most  valuable  editions  of 
the  Latin  classics.  These  I  devoured  at  different  in- 
tervals one  after  the  other,  but  did  not  reap  the  same 
advantage  I  should  have  done  by  reading  them  more 
slowly,  and  especially  with  a  good  commentary.  I 
had  only  been  able  lately  to  read  these  cursed  com- 
mentaries. In  my  youth  it  was  more  consonant  to  the 
indolent  state  of  my  mind  to  conjecture  the  import  of 
difficult  'passages,  or  to  skip  over  them,  than  to  have 
recourse  to  the  notes  for  an  elucidation. 

In  the  course  of  this  year,  1778,  I  finally  arranged 
my  pecuniary  concerns.  I  likewise  continued  to  pur- 
sue my  literary  occupations,  though  my  present  situa- 
ation  was  extremely  unfavorable  for  bringing  them  to 
a  state  of  perfection,  especially  as  a  new  obstacle  had 
occurred  to  prevent  my  progress  in  the  Tuscan  lan- 
guage. My  inestimable  friend  was  at  that  time  wholly 
unacquainted  with  Italian,  which  compelled  me  to  con- 
verse with  her  in  French.  I  endeavored,  however,  to 
counteract  the  Gallicisms  I  thus  acquired  by  carefully 
perusing,  during  the  rest  of  the  day,  a  portion  of  our 
prolix  though  excellent  prose  writers  of  the  fourteenth 
century. 

At  length  I  prevailed  upon  my  worthy  friend  to  learn 
the  Italian,  in  the  acquirement  of  which  she  succeeded 
better  than  any  other  foreigner  I  ever  knew.  She 
pronounced  it  in  a  tone  equally  mellifluent  as  the 
native  females  of  any  of  the  Italian  states,  even  Rome 
itself,  who  all  mangle  it  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be  ex- 
tremely disagreeable  to  an  ear  accustomed  to  the  true 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  239 

Tuscan  accent.  In  a  short  time  we  conversed  in  no 
other  language ;  but  as  her  house  was  always  crowded 
with  foreigners,  my  poor  Tuscan  experienced  constant 
martyrdom.  Of  all  the  vexatious  I  underwent  during 
the  three  years  I  remained  in  Florence,  this  was  the 
greatest,  and  it  pursued  me  during  the  whole  course  of 
my  life,  since  chance  always  condemned  me  to  listen 
to  this  barbarous  jargon.  Hence,  if  it  be  found  that  I 
have  written  the  Tuscan  with  purity,  correctness,  and 
ease,  I  must  be  allowed  double  merit,  on  account  of  the 
obstacles  I  had  to  encounter,  and  if  I  have  failed,  these 
must  plead  my  excuse. 


VII. 

DURING  the  year  1778,  after  I  had  completed  the 
versification  of  Virginia,  and  the  greatest  part  of 
Agamemnon,  I  was  seized  by  an  acute  disorder  of 
an  inflammatory  nature,  which  forced  my  physician 
to  prescribe  blood-letting.  My  strength  was  hereby 
much  reduced,  and  my  convalescence  proved  slow  and 
tedious.  My  malady  originated  from  mental  agita- 
tion, the  consequence  of  domestic  embarrassments, 
from  effects  of  study,  and  the  influence  of  love.  Though 
I  had  settled  my  affairs  in  the  course  of  the  last  year, 
and  no  longer  felt  any  disquiet  on  that  head,  yet  the 
influence  of  love  and  study,  which  augmented  every 
day,  soon  deprived  me  of  that  corporeal  vigor  which 
exercise  and  incessant  travelling  during  ten  years  had 
imparted  to  my  constitution. 

About  the  commencement  of  summer,  however,  my 
health  was  re-established,  and  I  devoted  much  of 
my  time  to  study.  Of  all  the  seasons,  the  summer  is 


240  "MEMOIRS  OF 

my  greatest  favorite.  In  proportion  as  the  heat  is 
excessive,  I  find  my  spirits  revive,  and  hecome  more 
particularly  fitted  for  composition.  During  the  month 
of  May,  in  this  year,  I  hegan  a  small  poem  on  the 
death  of  Duke  Alexander,  who  was  slain  by  Lorenzo 
de  Medici.  Though  I  was  highly  pleased  with  the 
subject,  I  did  not  yet  find  in  it  sufficient  for  the 
groundwork  of  a  tragedy.  I  composed  it  in  detached 
portions,  without  any  previous  sketch,  solely  for  the 
purpose  of  improving  me  in  rhyme,  from  which  my 
attention  had  been  diverted  by  writing  so  frequently  in 
blank  verse.  I  wrote  also  some  amatory  pieces,  equally 
with  the' view  of  celebrating  the  mistress  of  my  affec- 
tions, and  of  dissipating  the  chagrin  I  felt  on  account 
of  the  domestic  circumstances  in  which  she  was  placed. 
All  the  other  amatory  verses  in  my  works,  which 
follow  after  the  sonnet, 

"  Negri,  vivaci,  in  dolce  fuoco  ardenti, 

were  inspired  by  her,  for  I  certainly  never  chanted  the 
praises  of  any  other  woman.  Without  entering  on 
the  question  of  their  real  merits,  it  seems  to  me  that 
the  feelings  which  impelled  me  to  write,  and  which 
daily  became  augmented,  may  be  clearly  traced  through- 
out these  little  pieces.  This  I  conceive  is  more  par- 
ticularly distinguishable  in  those  which  were  written 
during  the  period  fate  separated  us  from  each  other. 

I  return  to  the  occupations  which  engaged  my  at- 
tention during  the  year  1778.  In  the  month  of  July, 
finding  myself  inspired  with  sentiments  of  liberty,  I 
sketched  the  plan  of  my  tragedy  of  the  Pazzi,  and  sub- 
sequently that  of  Don  Garcia.  Shortly  afterwards,  I 
conceived,  and  distributed  into  chapters,  my  three 
Essays  on  Government  and  Literature:  but  as  I  did 


YITTORIO   ALFIERI.  241 

not  find  expressions  at  the  time  answerable  to  my 
ideas,  I  suspended  my  labor,  tbat  I  might  not  be  again 
under  the  necessity  of  remoulding  it,  when  I  should 
resume  the  subject  in  order  to  its  correction.  In 
August  my  fair  friend  having  suggested  the  celebrated 
Mary  Stuart  as  a  proper  subject  for  my  pen,  I  readily 
undertook  it  for  her  gratification.  During  September 
I  employed  myself  in  the  versification  of  Orestes, 
which  terminated  my  labors  for  this  year. 

During  the  year  1779,  having  put  the  finishing  hand 
to  my  dramatic  work  on  the  Conspiracy  of  the  Pazzi, 
I  sketched  Rosamunda,  Octavia,  and  Tiinoleon;  and 
after  developing  llosamunda  and  Mary  Stuart,  I  com- 
pleted the  versification  of  Don  Garcia.  I  likewise 
finished  the  first  canto  of  my  poem,  and  entered  on 
the  second. 

Amid  these  laborious  occupations,  I  felt  my  mind 
tranquillized  by  the  presence  of  my  lady,  and  by  the 
regular  correspondence  which  I  kept  up  with  my  ab- 
sent friends.  One  of  these,  Gandellini,  had  travelled 
twice  or  thrice  to  Florence  in  order  to  see  me,  and  the 
other,  the  worthy  Abbe  Caluso,  arrived  in  this  city 
about  the  middle  of  1779.  He  continued  nearly  one 
year  at  Florence,  where  we  saw  each  other  daily, 
spending  always  the  afternoon  together.  I  learned 
from  his  erudite  and  agreeable  conversation  what  I 
should  never  have  acquired  by  the  perusal  of  books. 
From  him  I  also  learned  to  discern  and  appreciate  the 
genius  of  Virgil,  whose  works  till  then  I  had  merely 
read. 

With  such  a  model  before  my  eyes,  I  endeavored  to 
infuse  a  portion  of  his  varied  and  divine  harmony  into 
my  own  dialogues.  I  endeavored  likewise  to  imitate, 
as  much  as  was  admissible  with  the  genius  of  our 


242  MEMOIRS   OF 

language,  the  concise  style  and  the  transpositions 
which  render  the  versification  of  Virgil  so .  strikingly 
different  from  that  of  Ovid  and  all  other  poets ;  a  dif- 
ference which  poets  can  alone  discern.  It  was  neces- 
sary that  I  should  endeavor  to  collect,  from  every 
quarter,  modes  and  tunis  of  expression,  by  which  the 
mechanism  of  my  dramatic  poetry  might  assume  an 
appearance  and  character  peculiar  to  itself.  In  this 
species  of  composition,  we  cannot  aid  the  versification, 
either  by  long  and  inflated  periods,  by  a  variety  of 
imagery,  by  numerous  transpositions,  by  the  use  of 
pompous  or  quaint  terms,  or  by  far-fetched  epithets.  The 
mere  arrangement  of  words,  simple  and  full  of  dignity, 
constitutes  the  essence  of  verse,  without  destroying 
that  ease  necessary  to  dialogue.  What  I  have  here  en- 
deavored to  express,  I  was  not  able  to  put  into  practice 
in  my  own  compositions  till  several  years  afterwards ; 
perhaps  not  even  till  I  reprinted  my  tragedies  at  Paris. 
While  I  acknowledge  many  obligations  to  Dante  and 
Petrarch,  in  enabling  me  to  write  tolerable  verses,  it 
is  only  to  Virgil,  Cesarotti,  and  my  own  assiduity  that 
I  stand  indebted  for  the  art  of  tragic  composition. 
Before  I  succeeded  in  forming  my  own  style,  I  often 
fell  into  grievous  blunders,  and  became  bombastic 
and  obscure  in  order  to  avoid  weakness  and  insipidity. 
I  have  already,  however,  sufficiently  spoken  of  this  in 
another  place,  when  attempting  to  unfold  the  princi- 
ples of  style  and  manner  of  writing. 

In  1780  I  completed  the  versification  of  Mary 
Stuart.  I  likewise  developed  Timoleon,  the  ground- 
work of  which  was  drawn  from  Plutarch,  as  well  as 
Octavia,  which  was  the  real  offspring  of  Tacitus,  an 
author  whom  I  uniformly  perused  with  delight.  I 
curtailed  and  poetized  Filippo  for  the  third  time,  not- 


VITTORIO   ALFIERL  243 

0 

withstanding  which  it  still  displayed  conspicuous  traits 
of  its  exotic  origin.  I  also  versified  Rosamunda  and 
a  great  part  of  Octavia,  a  labor  which  was  frequently 
interrupted  by  the  chagrin  and  sorrow  which  at  this 
time  oppressed  me. 

VIII. 

MY  fair  friend,  as  I  have  already  said,  was  weighed 
down  by  sorrow.  Her  afflictions  augmented  every 
day ;  and  the  barbarous  treatment  which  she  suffered 
from  her  unrelenting  husband  induced  her  at  length, 
in  order  to  save  her  health  and  life,  to  consider  by 
what  means  she  might  emancipate  herself  from  the 
dominion  of  her  cruel  persecutor.  Thus  then  was  I 
led  anew,  in  opposition  to  my  character,  to  employ  all 
my  interest  with  those  in  power,  in  order  to  influence 
them  to  succor  this  innocent  victim  of  cruelty  and 
oppression.  Fortified  by  the  testimony  of  my  own 
conscience,  and  by  the  idea  that  I  had  not  taken  a 
single  step  in  this  affair  but  for  the  behoof  of  others,  and 
that  I  had  uniformly  given  her  the  most  prudent 
advice,  —  a  maxim  which,  though  disregarded  by  me  in 
the  management  of  my  own  concerns,  I  never  deviated 
from  in  counselling  others ;  convinced,  in  short,  that 
it  was  absolutely  impossible  to  act  otherwise,  I  took 
no  pains  on  this  occasion,  nor  indeed  on  any  other, 
to  wipe  away  the  foolish  and  malignant  calumnies  so 
industriously  propagated  to  blacken  my  reputation. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  I  rescued  this  worthy  woman 
from  the  tyranny  of  a  man  destitute  of  reason,  and 
incessantly  given  to  intoxication,  without  compromis- 
ing in  any  respect  her  honor,  and  without  infringing 
in  the  smallest  degree  the  established  regulations  of 


244  MEMOIRS   OF 

society.  All  those  who  witnessed  the  deplorable  cir- 
cumstances in  which  she  was  placed,  and  the  brutal 
tyranny  to  which  she  was  constantly  subjected,  must 
agree  that  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  conduct  this  affair 
with  sufficient*prudence,  and  to  bring  it  to  a  happy 
issue.  My  unhappy  friend  testified  a  desire  to  visit 
one  of  the  convents  of  Florence.  Her  husband  failed 
not  to  accompany  her ;  but  was  very  much  astonished 
when  he  was  given  to  understand  that  his  wife  was  to 
remain  there  by  order  of  the  government.  Here  she 
resided  only  for  a  short  time,  after  which  she  went 
to  Rome,  at  the  request  of  her  brother-in-law,  who 
wished  her  to  enter  into  a  convent  in  that  city.  The 
reasons  which  actuated  her  to  determine  on  a  separa- 
tion were  so  just  and  reasonable  that  her  conduct  wras 
generally  spoken  of  in  terms  of  approbation. 

This  amiable  woman  set  out  for  Rome  towards  the 
end  of  December,  while  I,  like  a  forsaken  wretch, 
remained  behind  at  Florence.  It  was  then  I  became 
thoroughly  sensible  that  without  her  society  I  should 
be  deprived  of  the  half  of  my  existence.  I  became  in- 
capable of  every  occupation,  and  could  devote  myself 
to  no  serious  study ;  nothing  gave  me  pleasure,  every- 
thing, even  glory  and  myself,  were  forgotten.  In  the 
management  of  this  affair,  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  only 
exerted  myself  for  her  benefit  and  my  own  misfortune  ; 
since  in  my  estimation,  a  greater  could  not  befall  me 
than  that  of  never  again  beholding  her.  Motives  of 
decorum,  however,  prevented  me  immediately  follow- 
ing her  to  Rome ;  on  the  other  hand,  to  live  at  Flor- 
ence I  found  impossible.  I  remained,  however,  till 
the  end  of  January,  1781,  and  these  four  weeks  ap- 
peared to  me  as  so  many  ages.  Finding  no  solace 
in  reading,  or  any  other  amusement,  I  took  at  length 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  245 

the  resolution  of  proceeding  to  Naples.  This  route  I 
chose  in  preference  to  every  other,  because  in  my  way 
thither  it  was  necessary  to  pass  through  Rome. 

One  year  had  now  elapsed  since  my  second  fit  of 
avarice  left  me.  I  had  laid  out  at  tw6  different  times 
one  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  francs,  in  the  pur- 
chase of  annuities  in  France,  which  secured  me  a 
certain  means  of  livelihood  independent  of  Piedmont. 
Relinquishing  my  penurious  habits-,  and  resuming  a 
moderate  expenditure,  I  purchased  four  horses,  which, 
however,  were  certainly  too  many  for  a  poet. 

At  length  I  reached  Rome,  —  I  saw  her  :  my  heart 
is  yet  lacerated  when  I  reflect  on  it.  I  sawr  her  behind 
a  grate,  less  tormented  it  is  true  than  she  had  been  at 
Florence,  but  in  other  respects  much  more  unhappy. 
We  were  separated,  and  who  could  say  for  how  long  a 
time  I  I  shed  many  bitter  tears,  but  1  had  at  least  the 
consolation  of  reflecting  that  her  health  would  be  re- 
established, that  she  might  sleep  in  tranquillity,  and 
was  no  longer  subject  to  the  caprice  and  sway  of  a 
cruel  and  drunken  tyrant;  in  short,  that  she  would 
exist !  These  considerations  contributed  somewhat  to 
assuage  the  anguish  and  melancholy  felt  on  I  the 
approaching  separation,  which  circumstances  rendered 
inevitable.  I  remained  at  Rome  only  a  very  few 
days,  during  which,  such  was  the  influence  of  my  at- 
tachment, that  in  order  to  serve  the  mistress  of  my 
affections,  I  was  led  to  employ  expedients  which  I 
would  not  have  practised  to  obtain  the  empire  of  the 
universe ;  expedients  to  which  I  never  even  submitted 
at  the  moment  when  I  presented  myself  on  the  thresh- 
old of  the  temple  of  fame.  Though  to  obtain  access 
was  extremely  difficult;  I  never  stooped  to  flatter  and 
lavish  incense  on  those  who  were,  or  pretended  to  be;  its 


246  MEMOIRS   OF 

guardians  :  now,  however,  I  visited  and  paid  my  court 
to  her  brother-in-law,  on  whom  alone  depended  her 
restoration  to  liberty,  with  which  he  continued  to  flatter 
us.  I  speak  not  here  of  these  two  brothers,  because 
they  are  already  sufficiently  known  to  the  public : 
though  time  may  probably  have  buried  them  in  ob- 
livion, it  is  not  my  intention  to  draw  them  out  of  it. 
If  I  cannot  speak  favorably,  I  wish  not  to  speak 
unfavorably  of  them.  What  greater  proof  therefore 
could  I  give  of  my  unbounded  attachment  to  this  ines- 
timable woman  than  to  have  humbled  myself  before 
them  f 

I  departed  for  Naples  agreeably  to  my  promise,  and 
as  delicacy  required.  I  felt  my  mind  much  more 
affected  by  the  present  than  our  former  separation  at 
Florence.  The  first,  which  lasted  only  about  forty 
days,  had  afforded  me  a  foretaste  of  the  misery  and 
anguish  I  experienced  during  this  last,  which  was 
longer  and  more  uncertain  than  the  former. 

The  view  of  Naples  and  its  delightful  environs 
afforded  me  not  that  gratification  which  I  expected  to 
derive  from  them.  They  were  no  longer  new  to  me, 
and  my  mind  was  a  prey  to  sorrow.  Books  I  found 
insupportable :  my  poetic  and  dramatic  studies  were 
neglected ;  in  a  word,  I  lived  only  to  despatch  and  re- 
ceive couriers.  My  thoughts  were  wholly  occupied  with 
my  fair  and  absent  friend.  I  frequently  took  a  solitary 
ride  along  the  charming  shores  of  Posilippo  and  Baia3  ; 
at  other  times  I  pursued  the  road  to  Capua  and  Caserta. 
I  almost  incessantly  wept,  and  so  weighed  down  was  I 
by  sorrow,  that  I  could  not  even  flee  to  my  accustomed 
occupations  to  assuage  the  oppression  of  my  heart.  It 
was  thus  that  I  passed  my  time  from  the  month  of 
February  to  the  middle  of  May.  When  at  any  time 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  247 

my  heart  was  less  oppressed,  I  endeavored  to  apply 
myself  to  study.  I  improved  the  versification  of  part 
of  my  Polinice.  I  had  concluded  the  preceding  year 
the  second  canto  of  my  little  poem,  and  I  now  felt  dis- 
posed to  commence  the  third;  but  I  could  not  finish 
the  first  stanza,  the  subject  being  too  lively  for  the 
gloomy  state  of  my  mind.  During  these  four  months 
I  did  nothing  but  occupy  myself  in  writing  letters,  and 
in  reading  a  hundred  times  over  those  which  I  received 
from  the  object  of  my  attachment.  Her  prospects,  how- 
ever, now  began  to  brighten,  for  toward  the  end  of 
March  she  obtained  permission  from  his  Holiness  the 
Pope  to  leave  the  convent,  and  to  live  apart  from  her 
husband  in  the  town  mansion  of  her  brother-in-law, 
who  himself  generally  resided  at  a  country-house  not  far 
from  the  city.  Though  my  inclinations  would,  on  this 
occasion,  have  led  me  to  return  to  Rome,  yet  I  felt  that 
such  a  step  was  inadmissible  with  propriety.  Nothing 
is  more  painful  to  an  upright  and  feeling  mind  than  the 
struggles  it  has  to  encounter  when  placed  between  love 
and  duty. 

Though  I  deferred  my  departure  for  Rome  the  whole 
of  April,  and  determined  to  exert  the  same  fortitude 
during  May,  yet  I  scarcely  knew  how  I  reached  that 
city  on  the  12th  of  this  month.  No  sooner  had  I 
arrived,  than,  influenced  by  my  attachment,  I  began 
to  assign  plausible  motives  for  residing  in  this  city, 
and  to  practise  all  the  arts  and  obliquity  of  a  thorough- 
bred courtier,  in  order  sometimes  to  see  the  woman 
whom  I  adored.  Thus,  then,  after  committing  many 
extravagant  actions,  and  exerting  every  effort  to  render 
myself  independent,  I  became  transformed  into  a  man 
who  visits,  cajoles,  and  flatters  like  a  candidate  for  the 
prelacy.  All  this  I  did,  and  submitted  to  a  thousand 


248  MEMOIRS   OF 

servilities,  with  a  view  to  conciliate  the  good-will  of 
prelates  and  priestlings,  who  officiously  interfered  in 
the  affairs  of  my  lady.  Happily  she  required  nothing 
but  mere  protection  from  her  brother-in-law,  as  she 
possessed  an  ample  fortune  wholly  at  her  own  disposal. 


IX. 

As  soon  as  I  could  emancipate  myself  from  this 
servile  mode  of  life,  and  was  at  liberty  to  enjoy  the 
society  of  my  fair  friend,  I  again  recommenced  my 
dramatic  studies.  After  finishing  the  versification  of 
Polinice,  XI  devoted  every  moment  to  the  completion  of 
Antigone,  Virginia,  Agamemnon,  Orestes,  the  Pazzi, 
Don  Garcia,  and  Timoleon :  I  likewise  endeavored,  by 
a  fourth  revision,  to  improve  my  Filippo  ;  but  in  this  I 
did  not  succeed.  In  order  to  afford  myself  some  respite 
from  my  dramatic  studies,  I  prosecuted  the  third  canto 
of  my  little  poem.  During  the  month  of  December  of 
this  year,  I  wrote,  at  one  stretch,  the  four  first  odes  on 
the  Independence  of  America.  I  was  attracted  to  this 
subject  from  having  read  some  beautiful  odes  by  Fili- 
caja,  which  greatly  pleased  me.  I  composed  my  four 
odes  in  seven  days,  and  the  third  was  finished  in  one. 
Except  a  few  trifling  alterations,  I  made  no  change  in 
these  odes,  but  allowed  them  to  remain  as  they  were 
originally  written,  —  so  great  at  least  did  I  find  the  dif- 
ference between  composing  lyric  odes  in  rhyme,  and 
colloquial  blank  verse. 

At  the  commencement  of  1782,  finding  my  tragedies 
considerably  advanced,  I  flattered  myself  with  being 
able  to  finish  them  in  the  course  of  the  year.  I  had 
proposed  in  my  own  mind  not  to  exceed  twelve,  all  of 
which  I  had  already  conceived,  developed,  and  trans- 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  249 

formed  into  verse.  I  next  proceeded  to  versify  them  a 
second  time,  to  correct  and  polish  them.  This  labor 
was  performed  according  to  the  order  in  which  I  had 
conceived  and  developed  them. 

While  engaged  in  these  occupations,  about  the  mid- 
dle of  February,  1782,  the  Merope  of  Maffoi  fell  a 
second  time  into  my  hands.  Induced  by  the  considera- 
tion that  I  might  learn  something  from  it  with  respect 
to  style,  I  determined  on  reading  it.  On  casting  my 
eyes  over  some  detached  portions  of  it,  I  felt  myself 
suddenly  seized  with  a  paroxysm  of  indignation  and 
rage,  on  beholding  Italy  so  wretchedly  degraded,  that 
this  tragedy  should  be  considered  not  only  as  the  best 
that  had  yet  been  written,  but  be  regarded  as  a  model 
of  perfection  to  all  future  tragic  writers.  At  that  in- 
stant I  conceived,  as  if  by  magic  influence,  another 
tragedy,  bearing  the  same  name,  and  written  on  the 
same  subject ;  but  much  more  simple,  impassioned,  and 
energetic.  Impelled  by  a  kind  of  inspiration,  I  pur- 
sued the  idea ;  whether  I  have  succeeded  others  must 
determine.  If,  however,  a  scribbler  in  verse  might  ever 
with  any  truth  exclaim,  "  Est  Deus  in  nobis,"  I  might 
certainly  affirm  it  on  conceiving,  developing,  and  ver- 
sifying Merope.  These  three  operations,  usually  ex- 
ecuted at  very  distant  intervals,  followed  each  other  in 
the  present  case  so  instantaneously  that  my  mind  en- 
joyed not  a  moment's  respite  till  the  work  was  com- 
pleted. I  was  affected  in  a  similar  manner  when  I 
composed  Saul.  I  had  begun  to  read  the  Bible  this 
year,  during  the  month  of  March,  but  without  order  or 
regularity.  This  reading,  however,  so  filled  my  brain 
with  poetic  enthusiasm,  that  I  felt  myself  irresistibly 
impelled  to  write  on  some  subject  derived  from  it.  The 
subject  chosen  was  Saul,  which  I  conceived  and  exe- 


250  MEMOIRS   OF 

cuted  with  equal  rapidity  as  the  former.  It  was  my 
fourteenth  tragedy,  and  ought  to  have  been  the  last.  In 
the  course  of  this  year  my  imagination  was  so  vio- 
lently excited  that  I  scarcely  knew  whither  it  would 
have  carried  me,  had  I  given  reins  to  it.  Already  had 
two  other  subjects,  drawn  from  the  Bible,  occurred  to 
my  imagination,  but  though  naturally  inclined  to  ex- 
tremes, I  resisted  the  impulse.  While  developing 
Merope  and  Saul,  I  felt  so  much  regret  in  exceeding 
the  number  I  had  fixed  on,  that  I  mentally  vowed  not 
to  proceed  in  their  versification,  till  the  others  should 
be  completed.  In  these  resolutions,  however,  I  did 
not  persevere,  for  so  irresistibly  was  I  urged  forward, 
that  I  felt  it  impossible  to  return  to  them  till  these 
were  finished.  I  may,  however,  venture  to  affirm  that 
none  of  my  dramatic  productions  cost  me  so  little  labor, 
and  had  been  composed  within  so  short  a  period,  as 
these  two  last. 

Towards  the  end  of  September,  1782,  I  copied,  re- 
copied,  and  corrected  all  these  pieces ;  I  wish  I  could 
add  polished,  but  this  I  found  some  months  afterwards 
they  were  very  far  from  having  attained.  Neverthe- 
less, I  then  considered  myself  one  of  the  first  characters 
of  the  age.  In  ten  months  I  had  versified  seven  trage- 
dies, besides  conceiving,  developing,  and  versifying  two 
others ;  in  a  word,  I  had  corrected  fourteen.  Finding 
some  relaxation  absolutely  necessary  after  such  unre- 
mitted  exertion,  I  determined,  during  October,  to  take 
some  repose,  an  indulgence  which  proved  equally  pleas- 
ing to  my  taste  as  salutary  to  my  health.  I  spent  a  few 
days  at  this  time  in  visiting  the  celebrated  cascade  at 
Terni. 

Puffed  up  with  pride,  which  I  durst  hardly  acknowl- 
edge to  myself,  I  suffered  it,  however,  to  be  penetrated 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  251 

by  her  whom  I  regarded  as  my  better  half.  Her  attach- 
ment to  me  rendered  her  also  subject  to  illusion :  she 
almost  considered  me  as  a  great  man,  and  did  every- 
thing in  her  power  to  induce  me  really  to  become  so. 
After  indulging  for  a  few  months  in  all  the  intoxication 
of  self-love,  I  at  length  began  to  re-examine  my  trage- 
dies, and  discovered  that  I  had  yet  a  considerable  space 
to  run  over  before  I  could  arrive  at  the  goal  I  so  ardently 
desired  to  attain.  As  I  was  only,  hoXvevcr,  thirty-four 
years  of  age,  and  still  young  in  the  career  of  literature, 
which  I  had  entered  eight  years  before,  I  did  not  despair 
of  one  day  acquiring  the  palm.  I  suffered  not,  how- 
ever, these  hopes  to  evaporate  in  words,  though  a  ray 
of  glory  had  already  shed  its  influence  over  my  labors. 

I  had  successively  read  all  these  tragedies  in  different 
societies  composed  of  men  of  letters,  literary  women, 
others,  who,  though  not  possessed  of  cultivated  minds, 
were  yet  susceptible  of  all  the  passions,  and  of  others 
again  who  were  grossly  ignorant,  and  wholly  destitute 
of  education.  In  reading  them,  it  is  true,  I  had  utility, 
not  praise,  in  view;  I  knew  the  world,  and  -  especially 
the  great  world,  too  well  to  be  inflated  with  pride,  or 
stupidly  to  believe  in  any  praises  which  flow  not  from 
the  heart,  but  which  cannot  wrell  be  refused  by  a  wrell- 
bred  audience  to  an  author  who  makes  no  pretensions, 
and  who  fatigues  himself  by  reading  his  productions 
for  their  amusement.  I  estimated  therefore  the  eulo- 
giums  I  received  at  their  true  value,  but  I  knew  how 
to  appreciate,  and  was  extremely  attentive  to  the  praise 
and  disapprobation  of  looks,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to 
employ  the  expression. 

Whenever  twelve  or  fifteen  individuals  are  assembled 
together,  such  as  I  have  described,  the  general  feeling 
which  pervades  this  assembly  will  very  much  resemble 


252  MEMOIRS   OF 

that  of  a  pit  in  a  theatre.  Though  not  compelled  to 
be  present,  and  though  politeness  requires  that  they 
should  appear  to  be  satisfied,  it  is  nevertheless  impossi- 
ble to  conceal  the  coldness  and  ennui  they  may  feel, 
and  still  more  so  to  assume  a  lively  interest  in  what  is 
going  forward,  or  to  display  an  ardent  curiosity  to  reach 
the  development  of  the  plot.  As  an  auditor  can  nei- 
ther command  his  features,  nor  fix  himself  to  his  seat, 
his  countenance  find  motions  must  afford  a  sufficient 
indication  to  an  author  respecting  the  sensations  which 
his  work  is  calculated  to  produce.  This  was  almost  the 
sole  object  I  had  in  view  by  reading  my  pieces ;  and  I 
thought  I  could  remark  that  during  two  thirds  of  the 
time  my  hearers  gave  to  them  an  undivided  attention, 
and  that  their  anxiety  redoubled  on  approaching  the 
catastrophe.  This  proved  that,  even  in  the  most  famil- 
iar tragic  subjects,  a  degree  of  suspense  and  uncertainty 
is  kept  up  to  the  very  conclusion.  I  must  here  also 
acknowledge  that  those  tedious  and  languid  passages, 
which  fatigued  and  disgusted  me  on  a  reperusal,  were 
done  ample  justice  to  by  the  eternal  yawnings,  involun- 
tary coughs,  and  restless  motions  of  my  hearers,  who  in 
this  manner  aftbrded  me,  without  intending  it,  the  most 
salutary  counsel ;  neither  do  I  wish  to  deny  that  I  have 
received  the  most,  just  and  excellent  advice  from  men 
of  letters,  men  of  the  world,  and  even  from  the  ladies. 
The  former  criticised  my  elocution  and  my  composition, 
the  second  entered  into  the  merits  of  the  plot  and  the 
adaptation  of  the  characters,  while  the  ladies  spoke  of 
the  conduct  of  the  passions  :  all  these  remarks  proved 
of  the  greatest  benefit  to  me ;  even  the  groaning  and 
contortions  of  the  ignorant  part  of  my  auditors  were 
not  destitute  of  utility.  I  listened-  to  everything,  and 
treasured  it  up  in  my  memory.  I  neglected  no  means 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  253 

of  improvement,  and  despised  not  advice,  from  what- 
ever quarter  it  came,  that  had  the  smallest  tendency  to 
improve  my  productions.  I  must  add  to  these  my  con- 
fessions, that  I  clearly  perceived  a  stranger  like  myself, 
who  reads  his  works  in  different  circles,  which  are  not 
always  composed  of  friends,  must  not  expect  wholly  to 
escape  ridicule.  I  repent  not,  however,  my  compliance 
in  this  respect,  if  it  has  tended  to  render  my  productions 
more  perfect ;  but  if  no  such  effect  has  resulted  from  it, 
to  the  absurdity  of  these  readings  must  be  joined  the 
still  greater  folly  of  causing  my  tragedies  to  be  repre- 
sented and  published. 

X. 

WHILE  anxiously  brooding  over  my  future  literary 
fame,  and  irresolute  whether  I  ought  to  commit  any 
of  my  works  to  the  press,  or  whether  it  would  not  be 
more  prudent  still  to  procrastinate  their  publication,  a 
middle  path  presented  itself :  this  was  to  procure  the 
representation  of  some  one  of  my  pieces  by  a  select 
company  of  amateurs,  who  performed  for  their  own 
amusement  in  a  private  theatre,  fitted  up  in  the  palace 
of  the  Duke  of  Grimaldi,  the  Spanish  ambassador. 
Previous  to  this  period,  they  had  represented  only  some 
very  indifferent  translations  of  French  tragedies  and 
comedies.  I  had  myself  assisted  at  the  performance 
of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  by  Corneille,  in  which  the  Duch- 
ess of  Zagarolo  acted  the  part  of  Queen  Elizabeth  very 
indifferently.  Notwithstanding,  I  clearly  perceived  that 
this  lady,  who  was  extremely  beautiful,  and  possessed 
great  dignity  of  mien,  fully  understood  the  character, 
and  that  with  some  instruction  she  would  become  an 
excellent  actress.  Actuated  by  this  idea,  I  resolved  to 


254  MEMOIRS   OF 

bring  forward  one  of  my  pieces  on  this  private  theatre. 
I  wished  by  this  means  to  ascertain  how  far  the  mode 
of  writing  I  had  adopted,  which  consisted  in  simplicity 
of  action,  the  introduction  of  very  few  personages,  and 
that  species  of  irregular  verse  which  precluded  the  mo- 
notonous cantilena ,  as  it  is  termed,  would  be  attended 
with  success.  For  this  purpose  1  selected  Antigone, 
the  least  impassioned  of  all  my  tragedies,  conceiving 
that  if  it  succeeded,  the  others,  which  were  written  in 
a  bolder  and  more  nervous  style,  would  still  more  cer- 
tainly succeed.  My  proposal  was  eagerly  embraced  by 
the  noble  group ;  but  as  at  that  time  none  could  be 
found  airiong  them  capable  of  taking  a  principal  part, 
excepting  the  Duke  of  Ceri,  brother  to  the  Duchess 
of  Zagarolo,  I  was  compelled  to  assume  the  character 
of  Creonte,  while  the  Duke  of  Ceri  undertook  that  of 
Emone;  his  lady  played  Argia,  and  Antigone,  the 
most  prominent  character  of  the  piece,  fell  necessarily 
to  the  share  of  the  majestic  Duchess  of  Zagarolo.  As 
soon  as  proper  arrangements  could  be  made,  the  piece 
was  immediately  brought  forward.  I  shall  say  nothing 
here  respecting  the  performance,  since  it  is  my  intention 
to  speak  more  at  large  on  this  subject  elsewhere. 

Inflated  with  the  success  I  had  obtained  at  the  com- 
mencement of  1783,  I  resolved  to  subject  myself  to  the 
fiery  ordeal  of  printing  my  work.  Though  this  step 
then  appeared  to  me  very  hazardous,  I  knew  not  to 
what  I  exposed  myself,  till  I  afterwards  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  cabals  of  literary  men,  the  hatred 
of  booksellers,  the  decisions  of  reviewers,  the  babbling 
of  newspapers,  and,  in  short,  with  all  the  train  of  evils 
to  which  an  author  subjects  himself  who  appears  before 
the  public  for  the  first  time.  So  utterly  were  all  these 
things  then  unknown  to  me,  that  I  knew  nothing  even 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  255 

of  the  nature  of  those  periodical  journals  and  reviews, 
which  assume  the  privilege  of  criticising  and  passing 
judgment  on  new  publications. 

Finding  it  was  difficult  to  obtain  the  sanction  of  the 
censors  of  the  press  at  Rome  to  the  printing  of  my 
works,  I  wrote  to  my  friend  at  Siena  to  entreat  him 
to  take  charge  of  them.  This  he  not  only  undertook 
with  the  greatest  readiness,  but  even  promised  to  super- 
intend the  press,  and  to  employ  some  one  of  my  ac- 
quaintances, on  whose  attention  I  could  rely,  in  order 
to  accelerate  the  completion  of  the  work.  It  was  not 
my  intention,  at  this  time,  to  risk  the  publication  of 
more  than  four  of  my  tragedies.  Of  these  1  transmitted 
to  my  friend  the  manuscript,  which,  though  accurately 
written  and  carefully  corrected,  was  yet  very  deficient 
in  clearness,  elegance,  and  purity  of  style.  I  then  wras 
simpleton  enough  to  suppose  that  the  labor  of  an  author 
was  at  an  end  when  he  had  sent  his  manuscript  to  the 
press,  but  I  afterwards  learned  to  my  cost  that  it  is  then 
only  it  commences. 

While  these  four  tragedies  were  printing,  I  remained 
at  Rome  in  a  state  of  the  greatest  anxiety  and  mental 
perturbation.  Had  shame  not  prevented  me,  I  would 
have  recalled  my  manuscript.  They  at  length  arrived 
in  succession;  the  printing  was  very  ill-executed,  but 
my  friend  had  attended  with  the  greatest  care  to  the 
correction  of  the  press ;  and  I  had  the  mortification 
to  perceive,  in  the  end,  that  the  versification  was 
extremely  barbarous.  The  childishness  of  running 
through  the  different  families  in  Rome,  and  presenting 
them  with  handsomely  bound  copies  of  my  tragedies, 
with  the  view  of  securing  their  approbation,  occu- 
pied me  several  days,  and  rendered  me  not  only  ridic- 
ulous in  the  eyes  of  others,  but  even  in  my  own.  I 


256  MEMOIRS   OF 

laid  a  copy  at  the  feet  of  Pope  Pius  VI.,  to  whom 
I  had  been  presented  the  year  before  on  coming  to 
reside  at  Rome.  It  is  here  necessary  to  mention  a 
weakness  of  which  I  was  guilty  during  the  audience 
which  had  been  vouchsafed  me  by  the  Holy  Father. 
I  entertained  no  very  profound  veneration  for  his  Holi- 
ness as  Pope,  and  still  less  for  Braschi  as  a  man  of  let- 
ters, or  the  patron  of  literature,  since  I  considered  him 
as  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  I  presented  him  my 
elegantly  bound  little  volume,  which  he  received  with 
much  affability.  He  opened  the  book,  laid  it  on  his 
table,  and,  turning  over  and  over  the  leaves,  over- 
whelmed' me  with  praises.  He  would  not  permit  me 
to  kiss  his  foot,  but,  raising  me  from  the  humble  pos- 
ture into  which  I  had  thrown  myself,  he  patted  me  on 
the  cheek  with  a  grace  truly  paternal.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  sonnet  I  had  written  on  Rome,  which  stared 
me  in  the  face,  I  replied  to  these  compliments  like  a 
thoroughbred  courtier  j  and  taking  advantage  of  the 
praise  which  he  bestowed  on  Antigone,  and  the  success 
which  attended  its  representation,  I  seized  the  moment 
when  his  Holiness  was  descanting  on  the  dignity  of 
the  tragic  art,  and  when  he  inquired  if  I  had  composed 
any  other  tragedies,  to  reply  that  I  had  finished  sev- 
eral, and  among  others  Saul,  the  groundwork  of 
which  was  drawn  from  the  Bible,  and  that  I  would 
dedicate  it  to  his  Holiness  if  he  would  deign  to  grant 
me  his  permission.  The  Holy  Father  excused  himself 
by  saying  that  he  could  not  agree  to  have  any  theat- 
rical pieces  dedicated  to  him,  of  whatever  kind  they 
might  be.  To  this  refusal  I  made  no  reply.  I  must 
here  acknowledge,  however,  that  I  experienced  two 
distinct  and  separate  mortifications,  which  were  both 
well  merited,  —  the  one  from  the  refusal  I  had  volun- 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  257 

tarily  sought;  the  other  from  being  forced  to  esteem 
myself  less  than  the  Pope,  for  my  cowardice,  weak- 
ness, and  duplicity ;  for  unquestionably  my  conduct 
proceeded  from  one  of  these  three  motives,  or  perhaps 
the  whole  of  them  combined,  which  had  induced  me  to 
offer,  as  a  mark  of  respect  and  esteem,  to  dedicate  my 
work  to  one  whom  I  considered  as  far  beneath  me  in 
the  scale  of  real  merit.  It  is  also  necessary,  not  to 
justify  myself,  but  in  order  to  explain  the  real  or  appar- 
ent contradiction  which  may  be  observed  between  my 
manner  of  thinking,  perceiving,  and  acting,  that  I 
should  here  ingenuously  explain  the  sole  and  true 
reason  which  determined  ine  thus  to  prostitute  the 
buskin  to  the  tiara. 

For  some  time  past  the  priesthood,  instigated  by 
the  Brother-in-law  of  my  adored  friend,  had  officiously 
propagated  many  calumnies  respecting  the  frequency 
of  my  visits  to  this  inestimable  woman.  This  noise 
daily  augmented,  and  I  endeavored,  by  flattering  the 
sovereign  pontiff,  to  secure  to  myself  a  support  against 
the  persecutions  I  already  anticipated,  and  which  actu- 
ally burst  over  my  head  in  less  than  a  month.  I  even 
believe  that  the  representation  of  Antigone,  by  attach- 
ing a  degree  of  celebrity  to  my  name,  provoked  and 
multiplied  my  enemies.  Love  then  taught  me  cow- 
ardice and  dissimulation.  I  wish  that  those  who  read 
this  trait  may  be  able  to  laugh  at  me  without  recog- 
nizing themselves  in  the  picture.  I  inclined,  both  for 
my  own  profit  and  the  benefit  of  others,  to  unveil  this 
circumstance,  which  I  might  have  buried  in  oblivion ; 
withheld  by  shame,  I  never  related  it  to  a  single  in- 
dividual, except  my  dearly  cherished  friend,  a  short 
time  after  it  occurred.  I  have  recorded  it  here  for  the 
consolation  of  present  and  future  authors,  who,  by 


258  MEMOIRS   OF 

some  melancholy  circumstance,  may  be  forced  to  dis- 
honor themselves  and  their  profession  by  fulsome  dedi- 
cations j  in  short,  that  my  enemies  may  say  with 
justice  and  truth,  if  I  have  not  debased  myself  by 
such  meannesses,  I  owe  it  to  my  fortune,  which  never 
compelled  me  either  to  become  or  to  appear  con- 
temptible. 

At  a  rumor  that  his  Holiness  had  ordered  me  to  leave 
Rome,  which  was  in  fact  not  the  case,  though  it  had 
been  credited  with  the  greatest  facility,  —  thanks  to  the 
liberty  enjoyed  in  Italy,  —  I  now  determined  to  depart 
voluntarily.  To  this  effect  I  addressed  myself  to  the 
Sardinian  minister,  and  entreated  him  to  inform  the 
secretary  of  state,  that,  having  heard  the  calumnies 
which  had  been  spread  abroad,  I  was  too  much  in- 
terested in  the  honor,  the  fame,  and  the  tranquillity  of 
the  worthy  and  respectable  woman  who  was  the  object 
of  them,  not  to  adopt  every  means  in  my  power  to  put 
an  end  to  such  unmerited  clamor ;  that  I  had  therefore 
resolved  to  leave  Rome  for  some  time,  and  would  set 
out  on  the  commencement  of  the  following  month, 
May,  1783. 

This  spontaneous,  and  to  me  painful,  resolution  was 
highly  gratifying  to  the  minister,  and  approved  by  the 
secretary  of  state,  the  Pope  himself,  as  wreli  as  all 
those  who  were  acquainted  with  the  real  state  of  the 
case.  I  immediately  prepared  for  my  departure.  What 
still  farther  determined  me  to  take  this  step  was  the 
melancholy  and  terrible  life  which  I  foresaw  I  must 
have  led,  had  I  remained  at  Rome,  after  being  precluded 
from  visiting  my  friend  at  her  own  home.  I  should 
have  been  exposed  to  continual  vexation  and  cha- 
grin, had  I  attempted  to  meet  her  elsewhere,  either 
openly,  or  employed  secret  means  to  accomplish  this 


VITTOEIO   ALFIEPJ.  259 

end,  which  must  have  proved  equally  dangerous  as 
useless.  To  remain  at  Rome  without  seeing  each 
other  was  to  me  a  punishment  so  severe,  that  I  re- 
garded it  as  more  insupportable  than  removing  to  a 
distance,  and  waiting  a  more  auspicious  period  to  renew 
our  intercourse. 

On  the  4th  of  May,  1783,  a  day  which  will  always 
be  recollected  by  me  with  sentiments  of  the  most  bitter 
sorrow,  I  bade  adieu  to  that  being  who  was  dearer  to 
my  heart  than  all  the  world  besides.  My  despair  at 
our  present  separation  was  more  terrible  than  on  any 
former  occasion  of  the  same  kind,  as  the  hope  of  seeing 
her  again  was  extremely  uncertain. 

For  two  years  I  remained  incapable  of  any  kind  of 
study  whatever,  so  different  was  my  present  forlorn 
state  from  the  happiness  I  enjoyed  during  my  late 
residence  in  Rome:  there,  the  Villa  Strozzi,  near  to 
the  Baths  of  Diocletian,  afforded  me  a  delightful  re- 
treat, where  I  passed  my  mornings  in  study,  only  riding 
for  an  hour  or  two  through  the  vast  solitudes  which  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Rome  invite  to  melancholy,  med- 
itation, and  poetry.  In  the  evening  I  proceeded  to  the 
city,  and  found  a  relaxation  from  study  in  the  society 
of  her  who  constituted  the  charm  of  my  existence,  and 
contented  and  happy  I  returned  to  my  solitude,  never 
at  a  later  hour  than  eleven  o'clock.  It  was  impossible 
to  find  in  the  circuit  of  a  great  city  an  abode  more 
cheerful,  more  retired,  or  better  suited  to  my  taste,  my 
character,  and  my  pursuits.  Delightful  spot !  the  re- 
membrance of  which  I  shall  ever  cherish,  and  which 
through  life  I  shall  long  to  revisit. 

Leaving  thus  my  only  friend,  my  books,  my  retreat, 
my  happiness,  and  I  may  say  myself,  at  Rome,  I  pro- 
ceeded on  my  way  like  one  deprived  of  reason.  I  took 


260  MEMOIRS   OF 

the  road  to  Siena,  where  I  should  be  at  liberty  to 
pour  my  sorrows  into  the  bosom  of  my  friend.  I 
neither  knew  nor  cared  where  I  went,  nor  what  was  to 
become  of  me.  The  conversation  of  this  incomparable 
man  afforded  the  only  solace  to  rny  grief.  Notwith- 
standing the  strength  and  elevation  of  his  own  mind, 
he  was  tender,  compassionate,  and  humane  towards 
the  weaknesses  of  others.  It  is  only  when  weighed 
down  by  adversity  that  we  can  estimate  the  value  of  a 
sincere  friend.  .1  am  persuaded  that  without  the  con- 
soling cares  of  this  worthy  man  I  should  have  sunk 
into  a  state  of  hopeless  insanity.  When  he  beheld  my 
truly  pitiable  condition,  though  he  knew  from  ex- 
perience the  power  of  virtue,  he  did  not  cruelly  employ 
cold  and  severe  reasoning  in  the  delirious  state  of  my 
imagination.  By  sharing  my  sorrow,  it  gradually 
became  assuaged.  What  a  precious  gift  from  heaven 
is  a  friend,  who  can  at  the  same  time  reason  and 
feel! 

My  intellectual  faculties  being  enfeebled  or  torpid,  I 
pursued  no  kind  of  study  or  occupation,  except  writing 
letters,  of  which  I  may  literally  be  said  to  have  written 
volumes  during  this  third  and  longest  separation  from 
my  lady.  I  knew  not  what  I  wrote  :  I  poured  forth 
my  grief,  friendship,  love,  rage,  and  all  the  affections 
with  which  my  lacerated  heart  overflowed. 

So  indifferent  was  I  at  this  period  to  literary  fame, 
that  the  severe  critiques  on  my  different  tragedies, 
which  had  been  transmitted  to  me  from  Tuscany,  while 
I  was  laboring  under  the  most  profound  affliction  at 
Rome,  produced  no  more  impression  on  my  mind  than 
if  I  had  not  been  concerned  in  them.  Some  of  them, 
though  piquant,  were  written  with  urbanity,  while 
others  were  extremely  gross  and  insipid :  several  of 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  261 

them  bore  the  name  of  the  author,  but  not  a  few  were 
anonymous.  They  all,  however,  exclusively  agreed  to 
depict  my  style  as  harsh,  obscure,  and  inflated,  but 
without  assigning  any  reason  for  this  opinion,  or  point- 
ing out  the  faults,  in  this  respect,  of  any  particular 
passages. 

On  arriving  in  Tuscany,  my  friend,  in  order  to  with- 
draw my  thoughts  from  sorrowful  recollections,  read  to 
me  extracts,  in  the  Florence  and  Pisa  journals,  of  all 
those  critiques  which  had  been  sent  to  me  at  Rome. 
These  were  the  first  literary  journals,  in  any  language, 
which  had  fallen  into  my  hands.  It  was  then  only 
that  I  penetrated  into  the  secret  of  this  respectable  art, 
by  which  different  works  are  praised  or  censured  ac- 
cording as  the  journalist  has  been  bribed,  flattered,  for- 
gotten, or  contemned  by  the  authors.  In  fact,  these 
mercenary  critics  produced  not  the  smallest  effect  on 
my  mind,  which  was  wholly  absorbed  in  other  sub- 
jects. 

After  a  stay  of  three  weeks  at  Siena,  during  which 
I  confined  myself  solely  to  the  society  of  my  friend,  the 
fear  of  becoming  troublesome  to  him,  as  I  found  it  im- 
possible to  occupy  my  mind,  and  an  impatience  for 
change  of  place,  which  incessantly  haunted  my  imagi- 
nation during  my  fits  of  melancholy  and  idleness,  con- 
curred in  determining  me  to  continue  my  travels.  The 
feast  of  the  Ascensron,  which  I  had  formerly  witnessed 
at  Venice,  approached,  and  I  resolved  to  be  present  at 
it.  In  my  way  to  this  city,  I  passed  through  Florence 
without  stopping,  as  I  could  not  support  the  sight  of 
a  place,  in  my  present  melancholy  state  of  mind,  where 
I  had  formerly  spent  so  many  happy  hours.  The 
fatigue  of  travelling,  and  the  sight  of  new  objects,  pro- 
duced a  salutary  effect  on  at  least  my  health,  which 


262  MEMOIRS   OF 

had  been  much  injured  by  the  grief  and  agitation  I  had 
suffered  in  the  course  of  the  last  three  months.  At 
Bologna  I.  left  the  direct  road,  with  the  view  of  visiting 
the  tomb  of  our  immortal  poet  at  Ravenna,  where  I 
passed  a  whole  day  in  melancholy  meditation.  During 
my  journey  from  Siena  to  Venice,  I  daily  composed  one 
or  more  sonnets,  replete  with  the  most  tender  passion. 
These  ideas  presented  themselves  with  such  force  to  my 
imagination,  that  I  felt  myself  impelled  to  embody  them 
in  verse.  At  Venice,  when  I  first  heard  of  the  treaty  of 
peace  being  concluded,  by  which  America  had  stipu- 
lated for  her  independence,  I  instantly  composed  the 
fifth  ode^on  American  Independence,  wrhich  terminated 
this  little  lyric  poem.  From  Venice  I  proceeded  to 
Padua,  where  I  failed  not,  as  I  had  done  formerly, 
to  visit  the  tomb  of  our  master  in  love,  the  divine 
Petrarch.  I  there,  as  at  Ravenna,  consecrated  a  day 
to  meditation  and  to  verse.  At  Padua  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  celebrated  Cesarotti,  with  whose 
manners,  vivacity,  and  politeness,  I  was  as  much  de- 
lighted as  with  the  perusal  of  his  elegant  translation 
of  Ossian. 

From  Padua  I  returned  to  Bologna  by  Ferrara,  in 
order  to  finish  my  fourth  poetic  pilgrimage,  by  viewing 
the  tomb  and  the  manuscripts  of  Ariosto.  At  Rome 
I  had  several  times  visited  the  mausoleum  of  Tasso, 
as  well  as  the  spot  where  he  first  drew  his  breath  at 
Sorrento,  to  which  place  I  went  express  during  my  last 
visit  to  Naples.  These  four  poets  have  always  been, 
and  will  continue  to  be,  prized  by  me  above  every 
other  in  our  divine  language.  It  appears  to  me  that 
they  afford  a  model  of  every  species  of  poetry,  except 
colloquial  blank  verse,  which  is  particularly  adapted 
to  subjects  on  which  they  treat,  only  requiring  to  be 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  263 

modified  in  a  different  manner.  For  sixteen  years  that 
I  have  read  these  works,  they  have  always  appeared 
new  to  me :  on  each  perusal  I  have  discovered  fresh 
"beauties  in  those  parts  of  them  which  are  truly  ex- 
cellent ;  and  even  the  faults  of  such  authors  are  not 
destitute  of  utility.  I  dare  not  here  affirm,  with  hlind 
fanaticism,  that  they  have  never  written  indifferent, 
and  even  detestable  verses,  I  only  contend  that  valua- 
ble lessons  may  be  learned  even  from  their  defects.  In 
forming  a  judgment  of  their  merits,  it  is  necessary, 
however,  to  enter  into  their  intentions,  and  be  well 
acquainted  with  their  motives  :  it  is  necessary  also  not 
only  to  comprehend  and  taste  their  beauties,  but  to  feel 
them.  From  Bologna,  still  suffering  the  most  pro- 
found melancholy,  I  proceeded  to  Milan,  on  a  visit  to 
my  dear  friend  the  Abbe  Caluso,  who  was  in  the 
country  with  his  nephews  at  his  beautiful  chateau  of 
Masino,  a  short  distance  from  Vercelli.  Here  I  re- 
mained five  or  six  days.  Being  so  near  Turin,  I  was 
ashamed  not  to  visit  my  sister.  Thither,  therefore, 
I  went,  in  company  with  my  friend.  We  remained 
only  a  single  night,  and  next  morning  returned  to  his 
house. 

From  Masino  I  returned  to  Milan,  where  I  passed 
the  month  of  July.  Here  I  frequently  saw  the  original 
author  of  II  Giorno,  the  real  precursor  of  Italian  satire. 
From  this  celebrated  author  I  endeavored  to  learn  in 
what  the  principal  defect  of  my  tragic  style  consisted. 
I  inquired  with  an  anxious  desire  to  be  instructed,  and 
listened  to  him  with  the  utmost  attention.  With  the 
greatest  readiness  Parini  bestowed  on  me  much  ex- 
cellent advice  respecting  different  points,  which,  how- 
ever, taken  together,  could  not  constitute  what  is 
termed  style,  but  only  some  of  its  parts.  Neither  Pa- 


264  MEMOIRS    OF 

rim,  Cesarotti,  nor  any  other  of  the  learned  men  whom 
I  interrogated  on  this  subject,  during  my  journey 
through  Lombardy,  with  all  the  ardor  and  humility 
of  a  novice,  were,  however,  able  to  point  out  to  me 
what  constituted  the  real  defects  of  my  style,  —  defects 
which  I  was  not  myself,  at  the  time,  sensible  of,  and 
which  I  only  saw  and  corrected  after  several  years  of 
labor  and  uncertainty.  On  the  whole,  however,  my 
tragedies  had  more  success  beyond  the  Apennines 
than  in  Tuscany :  my  style  was  even  censured  with 
less  animosity  and  more  judgment.  The  same  circum- 
stance occurred  at  Rome  and  Naples,  among  the  fewr 
readers  which  I  found  in  these  cities.  It  seems  then 
an  ancient  privilege  of  Tuscany  alone  to  encourage, 
in  this  manner,  Italian  writers  who  compose  only 
academic  discourses,  destitute  of  sense  and  humor. 


XI. 

AT  the  commencement  of  August  I  left  Milan,  and 
set  out  for  Tuscany.  I  took  a  new  route,  which  led 
from  Modena  to  Pistoja.  It  was  when  travelling  along 
this  magnificent  and  picturesque  road  that  I  first  at- 
tempted the  composition  of  some  epigrams.  I  was 
fully  persuaded  that  if  we  had  no  pointed,  severe,  or 
well-turned  epigrams,  it  could  not  be  attributable  to 
the  genius  of  the  Italian  language,  which  is  the  most 
vigorous  and  concise  of  any  with  which  I  am  ac- 
quainted. The  Florentine  pedants,  by  whom  I  was 
surrounded  as  I  approached  Pistoja,  furnished  an  ample 
subject  on  which  to  exercise  my  new  art.  I  remained 
a  few  days  at  Florence,  and,  assuming  the  harmlessness 
of  a  lamb,  I  visited  several  of  them,  in  order  either  to 
gain  instruction  or  learn  to  laugh.  I  profited  very  little 


VITTOKIO   ALFIERI.  265 

in  the  first  respect,  but  in  the  second  I  found  ample  field 
for  merriment.  These  gentlemen  modestly  gave  me  to 
understand,  or,  to  speak  more  properly,  made  me  clearly 
perceive,  that  if  I  had  put  my  manuscripts  into  their 
hands  to  correct  before  sending  them  to  the  press,  it 
would  have  greatly  enhanced  their  value.  They  enter- 
tained me  with  a  thousand  impertinences  of  a  similar 
kind.  I  inquired  with  the  greatest  patience,  if  I  had 
committed  any  offence  against  the  purity  and  analogy 
of  words,  or  against  grammar,  which  ought  always  to 
be  held  sacred }  or,  in  short,  if  I  had  introduced  any 
solecisms  or  barbarisms  into  my  composition,  or  had 
deviated  from  the  rules  to  be  observed  in  the  structure 
of  the  verse.  But  so  ignorant  were  they  of  the  art 
they  professed  to  criticise,  that  they  could  not  point 
out  to  me  the  precise  places  where  those  faults  were  to 
be  found ;  yet  they  persevered  in  affirming  that  many 
grammatical  errors  might  doubtless  be  detected.  They 
contented  themselves,  however,  with  censuring  my  em- 
ployment of  what  they  denominated  obsolete  terms, 
and  with  the  harshness,  obscurity,  and  too  great  con- 
ciseness of  my  style.  Enriched  in  this  manner  with 
such  rare  knowledge,  instructed  and  enlightened  by 
these  consummate  masters  of  the  tragic  art,  I  returned 
to  Siena.  There  I  resolved,  in  order  to  assuage  the 
grief  which  constantly  haunted  my  steps,  to  continue 
the  printing  of  my  tragedies  under  my  own  inspection. 
In  giving  an  account  to  my  friend  of  the  instruction  I 
had  derived  from  our  different  Italian  oracles,  and 
especially  those  of  Florence  and  Pisa,  we  amused  our- 
selves at  their  expense,  while  furnishing  them  with  the 
means  of  retaliating  by  the  publication  of  my  other 
tragedies.  In  the  mean  time  I  urged  forward  the  print- 
ing with  so  much  ardor,  though  rather  too  precipi- 


266  MEMOIRS   OF 

tately,  that  before  the  end  of  September,  that  is,  in 
less  than  two  months,  six  new  tragedies  were  ready  for 
publication,  which,  joined  to  the  first  four,  formed  the 
whole  of  this  first  edition. 

These  six  tragedies,  even  in  the  eyes  of  my  de- 
tractors, appeared  superior  to  the  four  former.  At 
that  period  I  did  not  wish  to  add  to  them  the  four 
others  which  still  remained  in  manuscript,  particularly 
the  Conspiracy  of  the  Pazzi  and  Mary  Stuart,  as  it 
would  then  only  have  augmented  my  embarrassment 
and  that  of  the  individual  who  interested  me  more 
than  even  myself.  The  labor  of  correcting  the  proofs, 
which  were  sent  to  me  very  rapidly,  and  to  which 
I  dedicated  my  attention  immediately  after  dinner, 
brought  on  a  fit  of  the  gout,  which  confined  me  for  fif- 
teen days,  during  which  I  suffered  the  greatest  torment, 
though  I  obstinately  resisted  taking  to  my  bed.  I  had 
the  year  before  experienced  a  slight  attack  of  this  dis- 
ease during  my  stay  at  Rome,  and  this  second  fit  con- 
vinced me  that  I  should  never  be  long  free  from  it 
during  the  latter  part  of  my  life.  The  immoderate 
sorrow  I  had  experienced,  joined  to  incessant  and 
severe  mental  exertion,  were  doubtless  the  two  causes 
which  had  produced  this  malady,  which  was  always 
however  successfully  combated  by  my  extreme  sobri- 
ety ;  so  that  at  this  period,  1783,  the  paroxysms  of  my 
gout,  to  which  I  have  carefully  attended,  have  never 
been  either  very  severe  or  frequent. 

As,  however,  the  object  of  all  my  wishes,  the  re- 
union with  the  mistress  of  my  affections,  could  not  be 
realized  this  summer,  I  resolved  to  take  a  journey  to 
France  and  England,  in  order  if  possible  to  assuage 
the  sorrow  and  agitation  I  experienced  at  this  disap- 
pointment. I  had  neither  the  wish  nor  curiosity  again 


VITTOKIO   ALFIERI.  267 

to  revisit  these  countries,  with  which  I  was  so  much 
disgusted  during  my  second  travels ;  but  travelling 
was  become  necessary  in  order  to  alleviate  my  suffer- 
ings. I  determined  to  purchase  as  many  English 
horses  as  possible.  This  rage  for  horses,  which  re- 
vived occasionally,  was  so  strong  that  my  noble  cour- 
sers frequently  even  overcame  my  taste  for  books  and 
poetry.  At  this  moment,  when  my  heart  was  lacer- 
ated with  sorrow,  the  Muses  maintained  but  little  sway 
over  my  mind.  The  poet  was  transformed  into  a  horse- 
dealer.  I  set  out  for  London  with  my  imagination 
filled  with  noble  heads,  fine  necks,  and  well-turned 
haunches,  wholly  indifferent  whether  my  tragedies  ap- 
peared or  not.  I  wasted  more  than  eight  mouths  in 
these  trifles,  without  pursuing  any  literary  occupation 
whatever,  scarcely  ever  opening  a  book.  The  only 
ones  on  which  I  sometimes  cast  my  eyes  were  my  four 
favorite  poets,  which  I  alternately  put  in  my  pocket, 
and  which  were  become  my  inseparable  companions 
during  my  long  journeys.  All  my  thoughts  dwelt  on 
the  mistress  of  my  heart,  and  my  grief  at  our  separa- 
tion was  from  time  to  time  depicted  in  melancholy 
verses. 

XII. 

IN  the  month  of  December  I  prepared  to  pass  over 
to  England.  The  men  of  letters  in  France  are  for  the 
most  part  strangers  to  Italian  literature :  it  was  im- 
possible for  me  to  take  any  part  in  their  conversation ; 
I  nevertheless  was  irritated  at  my  own  folly,  in  having 
again  subjected  myself  to  the  necessity  of  speaking 
and  listening  to  their  nasal  and  anti-Tuscan  jargon ;  I 
therefore  hastened  my  departure.  Balloons  were  at, 
this  period  the  rage  of  the  day.  I  witnessed  two  of 


268  MEMOIRS    OF 

the  first  and  most  successful  aerostatic  experiments. 
In  the  former  of  these  the  balloon  was  tilled  with  rar- 
efied air,  and  in  the  latter  with  inflammable  gas ;  in 
each  of  them  were  seated  two  individuals.  What  a 
majestic  and  noble  spectacle,  more  fitted  for  poetry 
than  history  !  a  discovery  that  may  be  termed  sublime, 
when  the  means  have  been  found  of  rendering  it  useful. 
No  sooner  had  I  reached  London,  than  I  purchased 
first  a  race-horse,  then  two,  and  shortly  after  one  for 
the  saddle,  and  at  last  six  carriage-horses.  I  had  the 
misfortune  to  lose  several  colts  successively  j  but  as 
one  died  I  purchased  two.  This  inordinate  desire, 
which  ha'd  lain  dormant  for  six  years,  stimulated  by 
privations,  was  again  rekindled.  In  the  pursuit  of 
this  favorite  amusement  I  disregarded  every  obstacle, 
and  when  only  five  horses  remained  out  of  the  ten  I 
had  purchased,  I  made  up  the  number  to  fourteen,  in 
relation  to  my  having  written  fourteen  tragedies,  though 
I  had  resolved  only  to  finish  twelve.  The  latter  ex- 
hausted my  mind,  the  former  drained  my  purse.  But 
the  pleasure  which  my  horses  afforded  me  restored  my 
health,  and  inspired  me  with  courage  to  labor  at  other 
tragedies  and  other  works.  I  did  riot  therefore  regret 
the  vast  sums  which  I  had  expended,  since  I  thus 
procured  to  myself  the  restoration  of  my  health  and 
vivacity.  I  was  much  better  at  expending  than  adapt- 
ing my  expenditure  to  my  income.  During  the  first 
three  years  after  the  donation  of  my  property,  I  had 
lived  in  the  most  sordid  manner,  and  during  the  three 
latter  with  decent  moderation  and  frugality.  By  this 
means  I  found  myself  in  possession  of  a  large  sum  of 
money  from  the  accumulation  of  my  yearly  income  in 
France,  which  had  remained  untouched  during  this 
period.  I  consumed  a  great  part  of  these  savings  in 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  269 

purchasing  and  in  transporting  my  fourteen  friends  to 
Italy,  and  their  maintenance  for  five  years  absorbed  the 
remainder.  I  sustained  no  farther  losses  among  these, 
my  favorites,  after  removing  them  from  their  native 
isle ;  and  so  much  had  I  become  attached  to  these 
animals,  that  I  could  not  resolve  to  part  with  a  single 
one.  Surrounded  by  my  horses,  my  mind  dejected  by 
the  absence  of  her  whose  presence  alone  stimulated  me 
to  every  great  and  noble  action,  I  avoided  society,  and 
sought  acquaintance  with  no  one.  I  either  remained 
with  my  horses,  or  in  scribbling  letter  upon  letter.  In 
this  manner  I  spent  four  months  in  London,  and  thought 
no  more  of  my  tragedies  than  if  they  had  never  been 
written.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  whimsical  relation 
which  existed  between  their  number  and  that  of  my 
horses  presented  itself  to  my  imagination,  and  I  said 
to  myself  with  a  smile,  "  Thou  hast  gained  a  horse 
by  each  tragedy,"  in  allusion  to  the  flagellation  in- 
flicted by  our  Italian  pedagogues  on  boys  who  had 
neglected  their  exercises  in  composition.* 

I  thus  vegetated  for  several  months  in  a  state  of  the 
most  complete  idleness,  neglecting  even  my  favorite 
poets.  My  inventive  faculties  became  so  benumbed 
that  during  my  abode  in  London  I  only  composed  one 
sonnet,  and  two  on  setting  out  from  that  capital.  Ac- 
companied by  my  numerous  caravan,  I  arrived  at  Calais, 
whence  I  went  to  Paris ;  and  afterwards,  proceeding  by 
the  way  of  Lyons  and  Turin,  repaired  to  Siena.  This 
journey,  which  I  have  described  in  three  lines,  was  ex- 
tremely difficult  from  the  great  number  of  my  horses.  I 

*  In  Italy,  when  any  of  the  boys  belonging  to  a  class  commits  a  fault, 
the  schoolmaster  orders  him  to  be  hoisted  on  the  back  of  one  of  his  com- 
rades ;  and  in  this  posture  inflicts  on  him  a  certain  number  of  strokes  with 
a  cane,  which  is  termed  giving  him  a  horse. 


270  MEMOIRS    OF 

every  day,  and  indeed  at  every  step,  experienced  a  de- 
gree of  vexation  and  embarrassment  which  imbittered 
the  pleasure  I  should  otherwise  have  derived  from  my 
cavalry.  One  coughed,  another  would  not  eat,  a  third 
fell  lame,  a  fourth  became  affected  with  the  farcy.  It 
was  a  continued  series  of  disasters,  in  which  I  was  the 
greatest  sufferer.  In  the  passage  from  Dover  they 
were  obliged  to  be  placed  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  by  way 
of  ballast  in  the  hold  of  the  vessel.  Here  they  were 
so  much  exhausted,  and  became  so  dirty,  that  their 
bright  bay  color  could  not  be  distinguished. 

Of  all  the  enterprises  which  I  ever  undertook,  the 
most  difficult  and  heroic  was  my  passage  over  the 
Alps,  between  Lansleberg  and  Novalaise.  I  found  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  securing  these  unwieldy  and  bulky 
animals  from  the  danger  they  ran  of  being  hurled 
headlong  from  the  frightful  precipices  we  had  to  scale 
during  this  perilous  journey.  The  reader  will,  I  hope, 
pardon  me  these  details,  and  the  pleasure  which  I 
derive  from  describing  my  efforts  and  success.  Those 
to  whom  they  may  prove  displeasing  may  pass  them 
over,  while  those  who  read  them  may  judge  whether  I 
was  not  better  able  to  conduct  the  march  of  my  four- 
teen horses,  in  these  straits  of  Thermopylae,  than  the 
five  acts  of  a  tragedy. 

My  horses,  thanks  to  their  youth,  my  paternal  cares, 
and  the  little  fatigue  they  underwent,  were  so  full  of 
health  and  spirits,  that  it  was  extremely  difficult  to 
conduct  them  over  this  mountainous  district :  I  there- 
fore took  wTith  me  to  Lansleberg  as  many  men  as  I  had 
horses  ;  so  that  each  horse  had  its  conductor,  who  held 
him  close  by  the  bridle.  They  were  fastened  together 
by  the  tail,  and  between  every  three  I  had  placed  one 
of  the  guides,  who  on  a  mule  guarded  the  three  which 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  271 

preceded  him.     In  the  midst  of  this  cavalcade  was  the 
farrier  of  Lansleberg,  provided  with  nails  and  shoes,  in 
order  to  lend  prompt  assistance  to  those  which  might 
be  unshod,  and  which  was  the  more  to  be  dreaded  from 
the  huge  stones  over  which  they  had  to  tread,  whilst 
I  myself,  in  quality  of  commander  in  chief  of  the  expe- 
dition, rode  in  the  rear  mounted  on  Frontin,  the  smallest 
and  nimblest  of  my  horses.     By  my  side  rode  two  agile 
and  nimble-footed  aides-de-camp,  whom  I  despatched 
to  the  centre,  to  the  front,  and  to  the  rear  with  my 
orders.     In  this  manner  we  arrived  without  accident  at 
the  summit  of  Mont  Cenis ;  when  we  had  to  descend 
on  the  Italian  side,  I  dreaded  the  mettle  of  my  horses, 
from  the  rapidity  of  their  descent.     I  changed  my  situ- 
ation, and,  alighting  from  my  horse,  walked  in  the  front 
with  the  view  of  retarding  the  velocity  of  their  march. 
I  placed  at  the  head  of  this  phalanx  the  heaviest  and 
least  spirited  of  my  animals ;   my  aides-de-camp  ran 
before  and  behind,  in  order  to  keep  them  always  at  a 
proper  distance  from  each  other  :  yet,  notwithstanding 
all  these  attentions,  several  had  their  feet  unshod  ;  but 
the  dispositions  that  had  been  made  were  so  skilful, 
that  the  farrier  quickly  lent  the  necessary  assistance, 
and  they  arrived  at  Novalaise  in  very  good  condition, 
and  with   only   one   lamed  among  the  whole   troop. 
These  trifling  details  will  prove  of  importance  to  those 
who  may  have  to  transport  horses  over  the  Alps,  or 
other  mountainous  regions.     As  for  me,  after  having 
so  ably  directed  this  passage,   I  regarded  myself  as 
scarcely  inferior  to  Hannibal,  who  only  passed  a  little 
more  to  the  south  with  his  slaves  and  his  elephants. 
If  his  enterprise  was  performed  at  the  expense  of  much 
vinegar,  mine  likewise  cost  me  much  wine ;  for   my 
whole  suite,  consisting  of  guides,  farriers,  horse-dealers, 
and  aides-de-camp,  drank  at  pleasure. 


272  MEMOIRS   OF 

With  my  head  filled  with  follies  of  every  kind, 
among  which  my  horses  alone  kept  me  alive,  and  void 
of  every  useful  idea,  I  arrived,  seven  years  after  my 
expatriation,  at  Turin,  where  I  remained  nearly  three 
weeks.  I  found  myself  rejuvenated  in  body,  but  un- 
fortunately my  intellects  also  partook  too  much  of  the 
child.  My  coursers  had  reconducted  me  with  rapid 
strides  to  my  primitive  ignorance  :  my  mind  was  so 
rusted  for  want  of  exertion,  that  I  believed  it  incapable 
either  of  invention  or  composition. 

XIII. 

DURING  my  stay  at  Turin  I  enjoyed  some  pleasure, 
but  I  also  experienced  much  sorrow.  It  is  unques- 
tionably delightful,  after  a  long  separation,  to  behold 
the  friends  of  our  early  years,  the  places  where  we 
have  gambolled  during  childhood,  the  trees,  even  the 
stones,  in  short,  all  these  objects  from  which  sprang 
our  first  ideas  and  our  first  attachments.  But  how 
mortifying  to  me,  on  meeting  with  the  companions  of 
my  youth,  to  perceive  that  they  avoided  me,  or  wrhen 
that  was  impossible,  only  saluted  me  with  the  most 
frigid  air,  or  turned  aside  from  me  with  disdain !  Far 
from  having  done  them  any  injury,  I  had  always 
treated  them  with  distinguished  friendship  and  cordial- 
ity. This  conduct  hurt  me  greatly,  and  would  have 
done  still  more  so,  had  I  not  been  informed  by  those 
who  still  felt  some  kindness  towards  me,  that  I  was 
thus  treated  by  some  because  I  had  written  tragedies, 
by  others  because  I  had  travelled  much,  and  by  a 
third  class  because  I  had  returned  to  my  country  with 
such  a  number  of  horses;  and  a  thousand  similar 
trilling  reasons.  These  trifles  will  doubtless  be  ex- 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  273 

cused  by  any  one  acquainted  with  human  nature, 
since  he  must  have  impartially  examined  his  own 
heart;  nevertheless,  they  ought  as  much  as  possible 
to  be  avoided,  by  exiling  ourselves  forever  from  the 
country  where  we  were  born,  if  we  do  not  intend  to 
conform  to  the  manners  of  others,  or  cannot  make 
them  acquiesce  in  the  propriety  of  ours,  especially  if 
that  country  be  small,  and  the  inhabitants  indolent,  or 
if  we  have  had  the  misfortune  involuntarily  to  wound 
their  self-love,  by  endeavoring  to  soar  above  them  in 
any  respect  whatever. 

While  at  Turin  I  was  compelled  to  undergo  a  still 
more  severe  mortification,  from  the  indispensable  neces- 
sity of  being  presented  to  his  majesty.  He  could  not 
regard  me  with  a  favorable  eye,  since  I  had  tacitly 
contemned  him  in  quitting  his  states :  nevertheless, 
the  customs  of  the  country,  and  the  rank  which  I  held, 
obliged  me  to  appear  at  court,  if  I  wished  to  avoid  the 
imputation  of  insolence  and  folly.  My  brother-in- 
law,  who  was  first  lord  in  waiting,  inquired  with  great 
anxiety  whether  or  not  I  meant  to  be  presented.  I 
immediately  tranquillized  him  on  this  subject,  assuring 
him  that  such  was  my  intention.  He  named  an  early 
day  for  this  ceremony,  to  which  I  made  no  objection  ; 
and  the  following  morning  I  waited  on  the  minister. 
My  brother-in-law  had  informed  me  that  the  govern- 
ment was  very  amicably  disposed  towards  me ;  that  I 
should  be  graciously  received ;  and  that  some  idea  had 
even  been  entertained  of  offering  me  an  employment. 
This  favor,  which  was  wholly  unexpected,  and  which 
I  certainly  did  not  merit,  made  me  tremble:  but  the 
information  was  of  use  to  me  in  this  respect,  as  it  pre- 
pared me  in  what  manner  to  act :  I  therefore  informed 
the  minister,  that  in  passing  through  Turin,  I  con- 


274  MEMOIRS   OF 

ceived  it  my  duty  to  wait  on  him,  and  entreat  that,  he 
would  present  me,  with  the  sole  intention  of.  offering 
my  respectful  homage  to  his  majesty.  The  minister 
received  me  in  the  most  flattering  manner :  at  first  he- 
only  spoke  vaguely  on  the  subject,  but  at  length 
openly  declared  that  the  king  would  derive  much 
satisfaction  from  seeing  me  settled  in  my  native 
country ;  that  his  majesty  was  willing  to  accept  of  my 
services  ;  and  many  other  speeches  of  a  similar  import. 
I  immediately  cut  him  short,  by  replying  that  I  in- 
tended returning  to  Tuscany,  to  pursue  my  studies, 
and  to  superintend  the  printing  of  my  works;  that  I 
was  in x  my  thirty-fifth  year,  an  age  when  our  habits 
are  fixed  ;  that  I  had  hitherto  devoted  my  time  to  lit- 
erary occupations,  and  that  it  was  my  intention  to 
spend  the  remainder  of  my  days  in  similar  pursuits. 
He  replied  that  the  profession  of  an  author  was  highly 
respectable,  but  that  there  were  certainly  situations 
much  more  important  and  honorable  which  I  was 
worthy  to  till.  I  politely  thanked  him,  but  persisted 
in  declining  them.  I  had  even  the  moderation  and 
generosity  not  to  mortify  this  worthy  man,  as  he  cer- 
tainly deserved,  by  making  him  understand  what  I 
thought  of  diplomatic  employments,  which  were  cer- 
tainly much  less  important  to  ine  than  my  dramatic 
works,  or  even  those  of  others  :  but  it  is  impossible  to 
enlighten  such  people  j  they  neither  can  nor  will  be 
convinced.  As  for  me,  who  am  naturally  disinclined  to 
disputation,  especially  with  those  whose  ideas  are  in 
every  respect  dissimilar  to  my  own,  I  contented  myself 
in  the  present  case  with  positively  declining  every 
situation.  The  minister  had  most  probably  informed 
his  majesty  of  my  refusal,  for  on  the  following  day, 
when  I  was  presented,  he  said  not  a  word  on  the 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  275 

subject,  "but  received  me  with  that  courteous  affability 
so  natural  to  him.  It  was  Victor  Amadeus  III.,  son 
of  Charles  Emannel,  in  whose  reign  I  was  born. 
Though  very  far  from  being  partial  to  kings  in  gen- 
eral, and  particularly  to  despots,  I  must  here  confess 
that  this  family,  taken  on  the  whole,  deserve  some 
praise,  especially  when  compared  with  those  who 
at  present  occupy  the  thrones  of  Europe.  Hence  I 
experienced  no  aversion  in  particular  towards  this 
dynasty.  The  reigning  monarch,  as  well  as  his  pre- 
decessor, were  well-meaning  men :  the  conduct  of 
Amadeus  was  praiseworthy  and  exemplary;  in  one 
word,  he  did  more  good  than  evil  to  his  country. 
Nevertheless,  when  it  is  recollected  that  the  good  and 
evil  which  kings  perform  depend  on  their  own  will 
alone,  we  must  naturally  shudder,  and  if  possible  fly 
from  their  power.  It  was  in  this  manner  I  acted  on 
this  occasion.  After  having  remained  at  Turin  a 
sufficient  length  of  time  to  see  my  relations  and 
acquaintances,  after  having  passed  a  short  time  as  use- 
fully as  agreeably  with  my  inestimable  friend  the 
Abbe  Caluso,  who  partly  restored  me  to  myself,  and 
drew  me  from  the  stables,  I  left  that  city. 

During  my  abode  at  Turin  I  happened,  contrary  to 
my  inclinations,  to  be  present  at  the  representation  of 
my  Virginia.  It  was  brought  out  at  the  same  the- 
atre where,  nine  years  before,  my  Cleopatra  had  been 
acted,  and  by  nearly  as  able  performers.  One  of  my 
academic  friends  had  prepared  everything  for  this  rep- 
resentation before  my  arrival,  which  was  wholly  unex- 
pected. He,  however,  requested  me  to  assign  to  the 
actors  their  different  parts,  as  I  fonnerly  had  done  for 
Cleopatra ;  but  my  powers,  and  above  all  my  pride, 
being  augmented,  I  refused  to  lend  my  aid.  1  was 


276  MEMOIRS   OF 

well  acquainted  with  the  audience,  and  especially  with 
the  actors,  and  I  wished  not  to  be  in  any  way  impli- 
cated in  their  incapacity,  which  was  evident  to  me 
even  before  having  heard  them.  I  knew  that  it  was 
necessary  to  commence  with  an  impossibility,  that  of 
making  them  speak  and  pronounce  the  Italian  instead 
of  the  Venetian;  to  make  it  appear  as  if  the  parts 
were  uttered  by  them  and  not  by  the  prompter;  in 
short,  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  make  them  under- 
stand (to  feel  would  be  requiring  too  much)  the  sensa- 
tions they  ought  to  excite  in  the  minds  of  their  audi- 
tors. Such  being  my  conviction,  it  will  be  obvious 
that  my  refusal  was  not  unreasonable,  and  my  pride 
not  misplaced.  I  insisted  that  my  friend  should  act  as 
he  thought  proper,  only  promising  to  attend  the  per- 
formance, from  which  I  became  convinced  that  the 
praise  or  censure  of  an  Italian  audience  should  be  re- 
garded with  equal  indifference.  Virginia  obtained  the 
same  reception  as  Cleopatra,  and  like  it  was  given 
out  for  the  following  evening ;  but,  as  it  may  readily 
be  supposed,  I  was  not  present  at  this  second  repre- 
sentation. 

From  that  moment  the  illusions  of  fame,  which  I 
had  fondly  cherished,  began  gradually  to  dissipate ; 
nevertheless,  I  did  not  relinquish  my  design  of  prose- 
cuting two  or  three  different  kinds  of  new  works.  I 

o 

resolved  to  bestow  on  them  all  the  care  and  attention 
of  which  I  was  capable,  that  in  my  dying  hour  I  might 
enjoy  the  consolation  of  having  done  everything  in  my 
power  to  secure  my  own  reputation,  as  well  as  to  im- 
prove the  dramatic  art.  With  respect  to  the  judgment 
of  my  contemporaries,  in  the  present  state  of  Italian 
criticism,  I  am  equally  indifferent  to  their  praise  or 
censure.  That  praise  which  is  founded  on  no  just 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  277 

principles  does  not  indeed  deserve  the  name,  and 
can  never  be  coveted  by  any  author  of  discernment. 
Neither  can  I  term  censure  that  indiscriminate  desire 
to  discover  faults,  without  pointing  out  the  means  of 
remedying  them  in  future. 

During  the  representation  of  Virginia  I  suffered 
far  more  intense  anxiety  than  when  I  had  formerly 
witnessed  the  first  performance  of  my  Cleopatra  ;  and 
my  feelings  on  these  two  occasions  proceeded  from 
very  different  causes.  By  those  who  are  enthusias- 
tically attached  to  the  dramatic  art,  these  feelings  will 
readily  be  understood,  without  any  further  attempt  mi 
my  part  to  explain  them,  whereas  on  the  contrary  no 
elucidation  could  render  them  comprehensible  to  those 
who  have  never  felt  similar  emotions. 

On  leaving  Turin,  I  spent  three  days  at  Asti  with 
-my  worthy  and  respectable  mother ;  on  separating  we 
shed  a  torrent  of  tears,  —  both  felt  a  melancholy  fore- 
boding that  this  would  be  our  last  meeting.  I  will 
not  affirm  that  I  felt  for  her  all  the  filial  affection  she 
merited.  I  had  quitted  her  at  nine  years  of  age,  and 
from  that  early  period  had  never  again  seen  her  except 
for  a  few  hours  on  a  transient  visit :  but  my  esteem, 
my  gratitude,  and  veneration  for  this  excellent  parent 
have  ever  been,  and  will  always  continue  unbounded. 
May  Heaven  grant  her  a  long  series  of  years,  since  she 
so  worthily  employs  them  in  assuaging  the  sorrows  of 
those  around  her  !  She  loved  me  beyond  expression, 
and  much  more  than  I  deserved.  Thus,  as  the  moment 
of  separation  drew  nigh,  I  could  not  behold  her  violent 
grief  without  participating  in  it ;  and  the  remembrance 
of  these  afflicting  moments  will  ever  remain  indelibly 
engraven  on  my  mind. 

No  sooner  was  I  beyond  the  states  of  the  Sardinian 


278  MEMOIRS   OF 

monarch  than  it  appeared  to  me  as  if  T  respired  more 
freely,  the  remembrance  of  my  natal  yoke  weighed  so 
heavily  on  me,  though  I  had  already  broken  it.  While 
I  remained  there,  every  time  I  was  obliged  to  meet 
with  those  who  had  any  influence  in  the  government 
of  the  country,  I  regarded  myself  more  as  a  slave  than 
as  a  freeman.  I  oft  recalled  to  mind  the  beautiful 
speech  of  Pompey,  when  he  sought  refuge  in  Egypt : 
"  He  who  enters  the  house  of  a  tyrant  becomes  a  slave 
if  he  be  not  so  already."  Hence  the  man,  who  either 
through  indolence  or  a  love  of  pleasure  returns  to  the 
prison  he  had  left,  well  deserves  to  meet  with  jailers, 
and  be  retained  against  his  inclination. 

On  approaching  Modena,  the  intelligence  which  I 
received  respecting  my  fair  friend  by  turns  filled  me 
with  grief  and  hope,  and  kept  my  mind  in  a  state  of  the 
utmost  uncertainty.     The  last  news  from  Piacenza  in- 
formed me  that  she  was  at  length  freed  from  the  control  of 
her  husband,  and  had  quitted  Rome.     This  transported 
me  with  rapture,  since  Rome  was  the  only  city  where 
I  durst  not  visit  her.     On  the  other  hand,  Decency, 
with  her  leaden  fetters,  prevented  me  from  following 
her.     After  innumerable  difficulties  and  sacrifices,  she 
had  at  last  obtained  permission  from  her  brother-in-law 
and  the  Pope  to  visit  the  waters  of  Baden  in  Switzer- 
land.    Her  health   had  been   greatly  injured  by  the 
grief  to  whicri  her  mind  had  been  long  a  prey.     In  the 
month  of  June,  1784,  she  accordingly  left  Rome,  and, 
coasting  along  the  shores  of  the  Adriatic,  by  Bologna, 
Mantua,  and  Trent,  had  taken  the  way  of  Tyrol,  while 
I,  quitting  Turin  by  Piacenza,  Modeiia,  and  Pistoja, 
returned  to  Siena.     The  idea  of  being  so  near  her, 
and  yet  that  in  a  short  time  we  should  be  again  far 
distant  from  each  other,  enchanted  and  agonized  me  at 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  279 

the  same  time.  I  might  have  sent  my  carriage  arid 
domestics  forward,  taken  post,  and  crossed  the  country 
to  join  her,  —  I  should  at  least  have  beheld  her !  I 
desired,  I  feared,  I  hoped,  I  wished  —  I  knew  not 
what  —  anxieties  which  can  only  be  known  to  those 
who  love  as  I  lo'ved.  Duty  at  last  obtained  the  vic- 
tory :  my  anxiety  for  her  reputation  overbalanced  every 
other  consideration,  and,  by  turns  irritated  or  dissolved 
in  teai*s,  I  left  the  great  road,  and,  groaning  under  the 
weight  of  my  dear-bought  victory,  I  arrived  at  Siena, 
after  ten  months7  absence.  Here  I  received  from  my 
friend  Gandellini  those  consolations  which  were  neces- 
sary to  make  me  endure  life,  and  again  awaken  hope 
in  my  woe -worn  bosom. 

XIV. 

I  SEDULOUSLY  kept  up  a  correspondence  with  my 
inestimable  friend.  The  tenor  of  her  letters  gradually 
augmented  my  hopes  of  being  again  permitted  to  re- 
visit her.  This  desire  at  length  so  fully  occupied  my 
mind,  and  became  so  violent,  that  I  could  no  longer 
resist  it.  I  imparted  my  intentions  to  no  one  but  Gan- 
dellini, and,  pretending  to  take  a  journey  to  Venice,  I 
set  out  on  the  4th  of  August  for  Germany;  a  day, 
alas !  the  bitter  recollection  of  which  will  never  be 
blotted  from  my  memory.  While  proceeding,  intoxi- 
cated with  joy,  to  meet  the  dear  object  of  my  affections, 
I  knew  not  this  was  the  last  time  I  should  ever  embrace 
my  highly  valued  friend;  I  little  thought  when  I  bade 
him  adieu  only  for  six  weeks  that  it  was  to  be  an  eternal 
one.  I  never  recollect  this  heart-rending  event  without 
shedding  many  a  bitter  tear. 

Having  once  again  commenced  traveller,  I  proceeded 


280  MEMOIRS   OF 

by  the  delightful  and  classical  route  of  Pistoja  to  Mo- 
dena.  After  passing  rapidly  through  Mantua,  Trent, 
and  Innspruck,  I  pursued  my  way  through  Suabia,  to 
Colmar  in  Upper  Alsace,  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Rhine. 
Near  this  city  I  at  length  met  her  whom  I  so  anxiously 
sought,  and  from  whom  I  had  been  separated  sixteen 
months.  Though  I  had  performed  this  journey  in 
twelve  days,  and  rode  post,  my  progress  did  not  keep 
pace  with  my  wishes.  During  this  journey  a  poetic 
mania  seized  me,  which  involuntarily  impelled  me  to 
compose  three  or  four  sonnets  daily.  I  pursued  with 
transport  the  route  which  my  fair  friend  had  taken  two 
months  before.  With  a  heart  overflowing  with  joy,  I 
indulged  myself  in  writing  burlesque  poetry.  Of  this 
kind  was  an  epistle  to  Gandellini,  in  which  I  detailed 
the  method  it  behooved  him  to  pursue  in  the  care  of 
my  dearly  beloved  horses.  The  rage  for  horses  con- 
stituted, as  I  have  already  said,  my  third  passion ;  I 
should  blusli  if  I  had  termed  it  the  second:  it  is  fit 
that  the  Muses  should  precede  Pegasus. 

This  somewhat  tedious  epistle,  which  I  afterwards 
printed  among  other  poetical  effusions,  constituted  my 
first  and  almost  only  attempt  at  burlesque  poetry. 
Though  very  far  from  excelling  in  this  species  of  com- 
position, I  yet  flattered  myself  that  I  was  no  stranger 
to  its  distinguishing  characteristics.  This,  however, 
was  not  sufficient  to  produce  excellence ;  I  did  the  best 
in  my  power. 

It  was  on  the  16th  of  August  that  I  arrived  at  the 
house  of  my  fair  friend,  with  whom  I  spetit  two 
months,  which  flew  swiftly  away.  When  blessed 
with  her  society  I  found  myself  again  restored  to  life, 
and  become  a  new  man.  Fifteen  days  had  scarcely 
elapsed,  when  I  began  again  to  compose  tragedies,  to 


VITTORIO    ALFIEKI.  281 

which  I  had  not  devoted  myself  for  the  two  last  years. 
On  finishing  Saul,  I  had  determined  to  qnit  the  buskin, 
and  nevermore  to  resume  it.  I  felt  myself  now,  how- 
ever, involuntarily  constrained  to  write,  all  at  once, 
three  other  tragedies ;  Agis,  Sophonisba,  and  Myrrha. 
The  idea  of  the  two  former  had  often  presented  itself 
to  my  mind,  but  I  had  hitherto  always  repelled  it.  At 
length  it  took  such  possession  of  my  imagination,  that  I 
proceeded  to  sketch  these  tragedies,  yet  I  trusted  that 
I  should  assume  sufficient  resolution  not  to  develop 
them.  I  had  never  thought  of  Myrrha;  a  subject, 
which,  as  being  founded  on  incestuous  passion,  I  con- 
ceived ill  adapted  for  tragedy.  I  had  read  in  Ovid's 
Metamorphoses  the  animated  and  sublime  address  of 
Myrrha  to  her  nurse.  It  had  melted  me  into  tears, 
and  suddenly  inspired  me  with  the  idea  of  a  tragedy. 
I  conceived  the  subject  might  be  rendered  extremely 
original  and  interesting,  if  the  author  handled  it  in 
such  a  manner  as  gradually  to  unfold  to  his  auditors 
the  dreadful  and  conflicting  tumults  which  overwhelmed 
the  pure  but  impassioned  soul  of  Myrrha,  who  was 
much  more  unfortunate  than  culpable ;  without  daring 
to  avow  her  execrable  passion  to  herself,  much  less  to 
others.  In  short,  I  perceived  that  it  was  necessary  to 
display,  by  action  alone,  what  is  related  in  Ovid,  and 
that  the  heroine  must  execute  her  purpose  without 
divulging  it.  I  soon  also  became  convinced  that  I 
should  have  much  difficulty  to  encounter  in  preserving, 
through  five  acts,  the  terrible  fluctuation  of  Myrrha's 
soul,  so  as  to  give  interest  to  the  piece,  without  the 
introduction  of  subordinate  incidents.  This  difficulty, 
which  I  felt  not  only  during  the  progress,  but  even 
after  the  termination  of  the  work,  served,  however, 
rather  to  stimulate  than  repress  my  ardor  in  its  execu- 


282  MEMOIRS   OF 

tion.     I  must  leave  to  others  to  decide  how  far  I  have 
succeeded  in  overcoming  it. 

These  three  new  productions  served  to  rekindle  in 
my  mind  the  love  of  glory,  which  I  no  longer  thirsted 
after,  but  with  the  view  of  sharing  it  with  her  who  was 
dearer  to  me  than  life.  Thus  occupied,  did  I  enjoy  in 
the  society  of  my  friend,  during  one  month,  a  happiness 
only  alloyed  by  the  sorrowful  anticipation  of  our  ap- 
proaching separation.  As  if,  however,  this  inevitable 
misfortune  was  not  of  itself  sufficient  to  overwhelm  me, 
cruel  fate  decreed  that  I  should  pay  dearly  for  the  fleet- 
ing happiness  I  had  enjoyed.  By  letters  received  from 
Siena,  iji  the  course  of  a  single  week  I  learned  the 
afflicting  intelligence  first  of  the  death  of  Gandellini's 
younger  brother,  and  afterwards  of  his  own.  Had  I 
not  been  at  the  house  of  my  fair  friend,  on  receiving 
this  sudden  and  unexpected  shock,  I  know  not  what 
effects  might  have  resulted  from  the  excess  of  my 
sorrow.  Nothing  tends  so  powerfully  to  mitigate  our 
grief,  on  such  melancholy  occasions,  as  the  society  of 
a  beloved  friend,  who  participates  in  our  afflictions. 
My  fair  friend  herself  knew  Gandellini,  and  was  much 
attached  to  him.  In  the  preceding  year,  after  having 
accompanied  me  to  Genoa,  he  had  returned  to  Tuscany, 
and  afterwards  visited  Rome,  for  the  express  purpose 
of  being  introduced  to  her  acquaintance.  He  remained 
there  several  months,  during  which  he  seldom  quitted 
her  even  for  a  single  day,  often  going  in  company  with 
her  to  view  the  prodigies  of  the  fine  arts,  which  she 
was  never  tired  of  contemplating,  and  the  merits  of 
which  she  knew  so  well  how  to  appreciate.  She  did 
not  therefore  mourn  his  loss  on  my  account  alone,  but 
also  on  her  own,  knowing  by  experience  the  value  of 
,tho  friend  whom  we  had  lost.  This  misfortune  inter- 


YITTORIO   ALFIERI.  283 

ruptcd  our  happiness  during  the  short  period  we  re- 
mained together,  and  rendered  our  separation  still  more 
afflicting.  The  dreadful  day  at  length  arrived,  and  it 
behooved  us  to  submit  to  fate.  Gloomy  despondency 
took  possession  of  my  mind,  on  finding  myself  not  only 
separated  from  the  woman  I  adored,  and  without  know- 
ing for  how  long  a  time,  but  also  deprived,  alas,  forever  ! 
of  an  inestimable  friend.  Every  step  I  advanced,  during 
this  same  route,  which  lately  charmed  my  sorrow,  now 
only  served  to  redouble  it.  Oppressed  and  weighed 
down  by  grief,  except  composing  a  few  verses,  I  did 
nothing  but  weep  during  my  way  to  Siena,  which  I 
reached  in  the  beginning  of  November.  The  relatives 
of  my  friend,  between  whom  and  me  a  reciprocal  at- 
tachment subsisted  on  his  account,  contribufed  also 
greatly  to  augment  my  sorrow,  by  their  too  great  readi- 
ness to  satisfy  my  anxiety  to  be  informed  of  every  par- 
ticular respecting  that  mournful  event.  I  trembled, 
and  though  eager  to  know  all  the  circumstances,  I  yet 
avoided  to  hear  them.  I  returned  no  more,  as  may  be 
readily  imagined,  to  this  abode  of  mourning,  and  never 
since  have  I  had  the  resolution  to  re-enter  it. 


XV. 

IN  the  mean  time  my  fair  friend,  having  crossed  the 
Alps,  had  also  entered  Italy  by  the  way  of  Turin.  She 
proceeded  to  Genoa,  and  from  thence  to  Bologna, 
which  she  reached  in  December,  and  where,  under 
the  pretext  of  the  advanced  state  of  the  season,  she 
proposed  to  pass  the  winter.  In  this  way,  without 
quitting  the  Papal  territories,  she,  excused  herself  from 
returning  to  her  former  prison  at  Rome.  Thus,  then, 
while  I  continued  at  Pisa,  and  she  at  Bologna,  did  we 


284  MEMOIRS   OF 

remain  separated,  though  so  near  to  each  other,  with 
the  Apennines  only  intervening  betwixt  us.  From 
this  I  experienced  much  consolation  and  suffering  at 
the  same  time.  Though  I  kept  up  a  regular  corre- 
spondence with  this  amiable  woman,  I  never  attempted 
in  any  way  to  visit  her.  I  dreaded  the  tittle-tattle  of  the 
small  Italian  cities,  where  those  who  are  at  all  removed 
above  the  vulgar  are  particularly  exposed  to  the  obser- 
vations of  the  idle  and  malicious.  I  spent  then  the 
whole  winter  at  Pisa,  without  experiencing  any  other 
consolation  than  that  which  I  derived  from  frequently 
receiving  the  letters  of  my  inestimable  friend.  My 
time  wasv  wholly  occupied  in  attending  to  my  horses, 
for  I  never  opened  a  book  of  any  kind,  not  even  those 
which  had  been  the  inseparable  companions  of  my 
travels.  Oppressed  by  lassitude  at  those  hours  when  I 
could  neither  mount  my  horse  nor  play  the  coachman,  I 
endeavored  to  take  up  a  book,  and  especially  in  bed  on 
awakening  in  the  morning.  In  this  way  I  read  through 
the  letters  of  the  younger  Pliny,  in  which  I  was  equally 
delighted  with  the  elegance  of  the  style,  as  with  the 
knowledge  they  displayed  of  the  manners  of  the  Romans. 
I  discovered  also  throughout  the  work  indications  of  an 
upright  mind,  and  of  a  character  at  once  amiable  and 
exalted.  I  next  entered  on  the  perusal  of  the  Pan- 
egyric of  Trajan,  a  work  which  I  knew  only  by  name. 
After  reading  a  few  pages,  finding  no  internal  evidence 
of  its  having  been  written  by  the  author  of  the  letters, 
and  still  less  by  the  supposed  friend  of  Tacitus,  I  ex- 
perienced an  emotion  of  indignation,  and  immediately 
threw  the  book  aside,  and,  seating  myself,  I  seized  my 
pen  in  a  rage,  exclaiming  in  an  audible  voice,  a  My 
dear  Pliny,  hadst  thou  been  in  reality  the  friend,  the 
rival  and  admirer  of  Tacitus,  thus  wouldst  thou  have 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  285 

spoken  of  Trajan  " ;  and  without  thought  or  reflection, 
1  immediately  wrote  down,  like  a  fool,  whatever  flowed 
from  my  pen,  till  I  had  filled  four  large  pages  of  paper 
in  my  usual  small  hand.  At  length,  wearied,  and  re- 
covering from  my  paroxysm  of  enthusiasm,  I  laid  down 
my  pen,  and  during  the  remainder  of  the  day  thought 
no  more  on  the  subject.  On  the  following  morning  I 
again  took  up  my  Pliny,  with  the  view  of  continuing 
the  perusal  of  his  panegyric,  but  after  reading  a  few 
pages,  I  threw  it  aside  as  before,  and  again  taking  up 
what  I  had  written,  felt  myself  highly  pleased  with  it, 
and  more  inspired  than  on  the  preceding  day.  I  ar- 
ranged and  distributed  my  subject  as  well  as  I  could, 
and  continued  without  intermission  to  write  every 
morning  successively  as  much  as  was  admissible  with 
the  weakness  of  my  sight,  which  usually  became  cloudy 
after  two  hours'  incessant  labor.  I  reflected,  however, 
on  it  during  the  rest  of  the  day,  as  I  generally  do 
when  I  find  myself  seized  with  the  mania  of  writing  on 
any  particular  subject.  It  occupied  me  five  mornings, 
from  the  13th  to  the  17th  of  March,  and  I  made  very 
few  alterations  in  the  original  manuscript  while  it 
was  at  press. 

This  work  so  completely  riveted  my  attention  as 
greatly  to  mitigate  my  mental  sufferings.  I  then  be- 
came convinced  by  experience,  that  in  order  to  enable 
me  to  bear  up  against,  and  finally  to  overcome  the 
grief  with  which  my  heart  was  oppressed,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  rouse  and  occupy  myself  by  some  literary  pursuit : 
but  as  my  mind  never  proved  subservient  to  the  control  of 
my  will,  I  could  not  have  combined  two  ideas  together, 
however  much  I  might  have  been  disposed  to  write  a 
panegyric  on  Trajan,  till  I  felt  the  necessary  impulse. 
Thus,  in  order  to  occupy  my  mind,  and  beguile  my 


286  MEMOIRS   OF 

sorrow,  I  sought  the  means  of  doing  violence;  to  my 
inclinations,  by  entering  on  some  work  which  required 
patience.  Again  taking  up  Sallust,  which  I  had  trans- 
lated ten  years  before,  with  a  view  to  exercise  my  mind, 
I  recopied  it  with  the  Latin  text  before  me  and  seri- 
ously set  about  correcting  it,  in  the  hope  of  rendering 
it  more  perfect.  As  my  mind,  however,  was  incapable 
of  regular  and  steady  application,  I  made  little  progress 
in  this  undertaking.  I  perceived,  on  the  contrary,  that 
during  the  delirium  of  a  preoccupied  and  wounded 
mind,  it  is  much  easier  to  conceive  and  imagine  a  short 
and  impassioned  work,  than  to  sit  down  calmly  to 
polish  what  we  have  already  composed.  While  the 
mind  is  engaged  in  the  work  of  correction,  it  readily 
wanders  to  other  subjects ;  but  invention  is  like  a 
fever,  during  the  access  of  which  the  mind  is  so  com- 
pletely abstracted  as  to  be  insensible  to  everything 
else.  Quitting  Sallust,  therefore,  and  putting  him 
aside,  to  be  resumed  at  a  more  auspicious  period,  I 
continued  my  Essays  on  Government  and  Literature, 
the  plan  of  which  I  had  sketched  some  years  before  at 
Florence.  I  wrote  the  whole  of  the  first  book,  and 
two  or  three  chapters  of  the  second. 

When  I  published  the  preceding  summer,  on  my 
return  from  England,  the  third  volume  of  my  tragedies, 
I  transmitted  copies  of  it  to  several  of  the  learned  men 
of  Italy,  and  among  others  to  Cesarotti,  whom  I  en- 
treated at  the  same  time  to  give  me  his  opinion  respect- 
ing the  style,  composition,  and  conduct  of  the  work. 
In  consequence  of  this  request,  I  received  from  him  in 
April  a  letter,  interspersed  with  critical  remarks  on  the 
tragedies  in  question.  I  wrote  him  a  short  answer  in 
return,  subjoining  a  fow  notes  to  his  observations, 
which  might  easily  have  been  confuted,  and  entreating 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  287 

him  to  point  out,  or  to  furnish  me  himself,  with  some 
model  for  dramatic  composition.  I  must  here  observe, 
that  Cesarotti,  who  has  conceived  and  executed  with 
so  much  ability  his  sublime  version  of  Ossian,  when  I 
requested  him,  two  years  before,  to  point  out  to  me 
some  model  for  colloquial  blank  verse,  mentioned  his 
own  translations  from  the  French,  such  as  the  Semira- 
mis  and  Mahomet  of  Voltaire,  which  had  been  pub- 
lished long  before,  and  virtually  proposed  them  as 
suited  to  answer  my  purpose.  As  these  translations 
are  in  the  hands  of  every  one,  it  would  be  superfluous 
here  to  add  any  reflections  on  this  subject.  Every  one 
may  compare  his  tragic  works  with  mine,  and  form 
their  own  judgment :  they  may  also  compare  the  epic 
poetry  of  this  author  in  his  Ossian,  and  judge  whether 
it  bears  characteristic  marks  of  a  similar  origin.  This 
fact  will  serve,  however,  to  demonstrate  what  a  mis- 
erable being  is  man,  and  especially  an  author, — we 
have  hands,  a  palette,  and  pencil,  to  delineate  others, 
but  possess  not  a  mirror  to  recognize  ourselves. 

XVI. 

MY  fair  friend  set  out  from  Bologna  in  April,  and  took 
the  road  to  Paris.  She  could  not  have  made  a  more  ap- 
propriate choice  for  a  permanent  residence  than  France, 
where  she  had  numerous  relatives  and  friends.  She  re- 
mained at  Paris  till  the  latter  end  of  August,  when  she 
returned  to  Alsace,  and  occupied  the  same  country-house 
where  I  visited  her  the  preceding  year.  As  for  myself, 
I  set  out  early  in  September,  arid,  transported  with  the 
most  lively  joy,  crossed  the  Tyrolese  Alps.  The  loss 
of  my  friend  Gandelliui,  and  the  resolution  my  fair  friend 
had  taken  to  abandon  Italy,  determined  me  to  quit  it 


288  MEMOIRS    OF 

likewise.  Though  it  was  neither  consonant  to  my 
wishes,  nor  consistent  with  propriety,  that  we  should 
inhabit  the  same  dwelling,  I  was  yet  solicitous  to  fix 
my  residence  as  near  to  her  as  possible,  or  at  least  that 
the  Alps  should  not  intervene  between  us.  I  then  put 
all  my  cavalry  in  motion,  which  safely  arrived  a  month 
after  me  in  Alsace,  where  I  found  everything  I  pos- 
sessed, excepting  my  books,  of  which  I  had  left  the 
greatest  part  behind  me  at  Rome.  The  happiness 
which  resulted  from  this  second  meeting  continued  only 
two  months,  as  my  friend  found  herself  under  the  neces- 
sity of  spending  the  winter  at  Paris.  I  attended  her  as 
far  as  Strasburg,  where  for  the  third  time  I  was  com- 
pelled to  tear  myself  from  her  society.  While  she  pur- 
sued her  route,  I  returned  to  my  former  residence. 
Though  deeply  afflicted  at  our  separation,  yet  my  sor- 
row was  not  so  extreme  as  that  I  had  formerly  experi- 
enced on  similar  occasions,  because  I  was  now  nearer, 
and  could  visit  her  without  obstacle  or  dread  of  injuring 
her.  Besides,  my  mind  anticipated  the  pleasure  of  her 
rejoining  me  during  the  following  summer.  These 
hopes  infused  a  balm  into  my  wounded  mind,  and  light- 
ened it  so  effectually,  that  I  once  more  resigned  myself 
to  the  influence  of  the  Muses.  During  this  winter  I 
performed  more  literary  labor  than  I  had  ever  done 
before  within  so  short  a  period.  The  abstraction  of  my 
mind,  uninterrupted  by  dissipation  and  chagrin,  appeared 
at  once  to  shorten  and  multiply  the  hours.  Immediately 
on  fixing  myself  in  my  retirement,  I  commenced  the  de- 
velopment of  Agis,  which  I  had  previously  sketched 
during  the  last  December  at  Pisa ;  but  having  become 
disgusted  with  it,  which  never  occurs  to  me  when  I 
originate  an  idea  myself,  I  had  thrown  it  aside.  I  now, 
ho  we  ver,Jiappily  finished  it,  as  well  as  Sophonisba  and 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  289 

Myrrha.  In  January  I  likewise  completed  the  second 
and  third  part  of  the  Essays  on  Government  and  Liter- 
ature. At  this  time  I  also  devised  and  composed  a  dia- 
logue to  the  ever-cherished  memory  of  my  inestimable 
friend  Gandellini,  an  homage  which  I  severely  re- 
proached myself  for  having  so  long  neglected.  I  more- 
over conceived  and  versified  the  lyric  part  of  the  melo- 
drama of  Abel,  a  species  of  composition  respecting  which 
I  shall  speak  hereafter,  if  health  and  opportunity  be 
allowed  me  to  execute  what  I  propose.  Having  re- 
turned to  the  composition  of  verse,  I  finished  my  little 
poem  without  farther  interruption.  I  besides  revised 
and  corrected  the  three  other  cantos,  which,  as  before 
mentioned,  I  had  written  in  detached  portions  during 
the  last  ten  years,  as  may  be  inferred  by  a  want  of  uni- 
formity in  the  poem  itself;  a  fault  seldom  discoverable 
among  those  with  which  my  other  productions  abound. 
I  had  scarcely  finished  this  poem,  when  I  received  a 
letter  from  my  fair  friend,  whose  correspondence  always 
gave  me  ineffable  delight,  in  which  she  casually  informed 
me  that  she  had  been  lately  present  at  the  representa- 
tion of  the  Brutus  of  Voltaire,  which  afforded  her  the 
highest  gratification.  I  had  myself  seen  it  nearly  ten 
years  before,  but  I  remembered  little  or  nothing  of  the 
piece.  I  instantly  felt  myself  inspired  with  a  principle 
of  emulation,  and  mentally  ejaculated  :  u  The  Brutus  ! 
the  Brutus  of  Voltaire  !  I  will  also  compose  a  Brutus, 
but  instead  of  one  I  shall  introduce  two ;  and  it  will  be 
seen  whether  I  be  not  equally  qualified  to  write  on  such 
a  subject  as  a  French  plebeian,  who  during  seventy 
years  subscribed  himself  l  Voltaire,  Gentleman  in  ordi- 
nary to  the  king/  "  I  said  riot  a  word  of  my  intention 
to  any  one,  not  even  to  my  friend  when  replying  to  her 
letter,  but  instantly  conceived  my  two  Brutuses,  such 


290  MEMOIRS   OF 

as  they  afterwards  appeared.  In  this  way  was  I  led 
to  break  through  the  resolution  I  had  taken  not  to 
write  another  tragedy,  and  from  twelve  they  at  length 
amounted  to  nineteen.  Upon  this  Brutus,  I  renewed 
to  Apollo  the  solemn  oath  which  I  had  formerly  taken, 
and  which  assuredly  I  shall  never  break,  having  for  my 
guaranties  the  years  which  have  rolled  over  my  head, 
and  so  many  things  still  left  to  execute,  if  health  and 
opportunity  are  allowed  me  to  perform  them. 

I  passed  five  or  six  months  in  the  country  in  a  state 
of  almost  uninterrupted  abstraction.  It  was  my  regular 
custom,  as  soon  as  I  rose  in  the  morning,  to  write  long 
letters  of  five  or  six  pages  to  my  female  Mend ;  and 
afterwards  to  pursue  my  literary  avocations,  which  wero 
for  the  most  part  protracted  till  two  or  three  in  the 
afternoon.  Lastly,  I  went  out  and  took  an  airing  for 
two  hours,  either  on  horseback  or  in  my  carriage.  As 
my  mind  was  continually  engaged,  either  in  poetizing, 
thinking  on  the  mistress  of  my  affections,  or  on  some- 
thing else,  I  derived  little  advantage  from  these  excur- 
sions, which,  instead  of  amusing  and  relieving  my  mind, 
served  still  farther  to  fatigue  and  exhaust  it.  This 
mode  of  life  brought  on  a  violent  attack  of  the  gout, 
which,  for  the  first  time,  confined  me  to  my  bed,  and 
subjected  me,  during  fifteen  days,  to  the  most  excruci- 
ating sufferings.  Thus  were  my  literary  pursuits,  wThich 
I  had  resumed  with  so  much  ardor,  disagreeably  inter- 
rupted. Unquestionably,  I  should  never  have  been  able 
to  support  the  recluse  and  studious  life  I  led,  had  it  not 
been  for  my  horses,  which  induced  me  to  take  both  air 
and  exercise.  Such  occasional  excursions,  however, 
would  have  been  insufficient  to  counteract  the  bad  ef- 
fects of  such  unremitting  mental  exertions ;  and  if  the 
gout  had  not  afforded  me  a  seasonable  respite,  by  forcing 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  291 

me  to  suspend  my  labors,  I  might  probably  have  either 
become  insane,  or  sunk  through  mere  weakness,  as  both 
appetite  and  sleep  had  in  a  great  measure  forsaken  me. 
Through  the  influence  of  repose  and  a  proper  regimen, 
my  health,  however,  became  again  restored  about  the 
month  of  May.  Some  circumstances  having  occurred 
to  prevent  my  fair  friend  returning  to  the  country,  whose 
presence  was  my  only  worldly  consolation,  I  fell  into  a 
profound  melancholy,  which  so  clouded  my  understand- 
ing as  to  render  me  nearly  incapable  of  engaging  in  any 
literary  pursuit  till  towards  the  end  of  August,  when, 
on  the  arrival  of  my  friend,  all  my  evils  suddenly  took 
to  flight  and  disappeared.  As  soon  as  my  health  was 
re-established,  I  forgot  the  sorrows  produced  by  her 
absence,  which  fortunately  was  the  last.  Resuming 
again  my  dramatic  occupations,  I  pursued  them  with 
such  ardor  that,  about  the  middle  of  December,  when 
we  departed  for  Paris,  I  had  finished  the  versification 
of  Agis,  Sophonisba,  and  Myrrha.  I  had  also  devel- 
oped the  two  Brutuses,  and  written  my  first  satire,  a 
species  of  composition  in  which  I  had  not  succeeded 
nine  years  before  at  Florence.  At  that  period,  being 
equally  ignorant  of  language,  and  the  construction  of 
rhyme,  I  had  abandoned  the  idea.  The  presence  of  my 
fair  friend  inspired  me,  however,  with  sufficient  courage 
again  to  make  the  attempt,  and  it  seemed  to  me,  if  I 
could  not  attain  the  goal,  I  ought  at  least  to  enter  the 
lists.  Before  departing  for  Paris,  I  also  reviewed  my 
other  poetical  works,  the  greatest  part  of  which  I  had 
before  polished ;  these  I  found  had  swelled  to  a  consid- 
erable, perhaps  too  considerable  a  number. 


292  MEMOIRS   OF 


XVII. 

AFTER  an  uninterrupted  stay  of  fourteen  months  in 
Alsace,  I  set  out,  in  company  with  my  fair  friend,  for 
Paris.  This  country,  which  had  always  proved  ex- 
tremely disagreeable  to  me,  as  much  on  account  of  my 
own  character,  as  the  manners  of  the  people,  now  ap- 
peared a  perfect  elysium,  since  I  inhabited  it  with  the 
mistress  of  my  affections.  Uncertain,  however,  whether 
my  stay  would  he  long,  I  left  my  favorite  horses  in 
Alsace,  only  carrying  along  with  me  my  manuscripts 
and  a  few  books.  After  having  breathed,  for  so  long 
a  period,  the  free  air  of  the  country,  I  found  the  noise 
and  stench  of  this  immense  capital  almost  insupportable. 
The  distance  of  my  dwelling  from  that  of  my  cherished 
friend,  though  agreed  on  between  us,  as  well  as  various 
other  circumstances,  proved  so  extremely  irksome  to 
me,  that  I  would  instantly  have  quitted  this  modern 
Babylon,  had  I  lived,  for  myself  alone.  In  a  short 
time,  however,  I  endeavored  to  reconcile  myself  to  sad 
necessity,  and  to  derive  all  the  advantage  from  my 
situation  that  was  possible.  None  of  the  literati  in 
Paris  were,  however,  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the 
Italian  language  to  afford  me  any  assistance  with  re- 
spect to  style  or  versification.  As  to  what  related  to 
the  dramatic  art  in  general,  in  which  the  French  ex- 
clusively arrogate  to  themselves  the  first  rank,  as  the 
principles  on  which  their  tragedies  are  composed  were 
dissimilar  from  mine,  I  must  have  possessed  a  great 
deal  of  apathy  to  listen  to  their  magisterial  dogmas, 
which  are  in  a  great  measure  just,  but  which  are  never 
executed  by  those  who  promulgate  them.  As  I  was  not 
of  a  disputatious  or  wrangling  turn  of  mind,  I  listened 


VITTORIO   ALFIEKI.  293 

to  every  one,  without,  however,  acquiescing  in  what 
was  said,  by  which  means  I  acquired  the  sublime  art 
of  being  silent.  This  six  months'  stay  at  Paris  was  of 
great  use  to  me,  at  least  in  point  of  health. 

About  the  middle  of  June  we  returned  to  our  coun- 
try residence  in  Alsace.  I  had  already  versified  the 
elder  Brutus,  and  by  a  laughable  accident  had  been 
forced  to  resketch  Sophonisba.  When  at  Paris,  I 
wished  to  read  this  tragedy  to  a  French  gentleman 
with  whom  I  had  been  acquainted  at  Turin,  and  whom 
I  regarded  as  an  enlightened  dramatic  critic.  It  was 
to  him  I  had  submitted  my  Filippo  in  French  prose, 
when  he  induced  me  to  transpose  the  scene  of  the 
council  from  the  fourth  act,  where  it  did  not  aid  the 
progress  of  the  action,  to  the  third,  where  it  now  stands. 
In  reading  my  Sophonisba  to  such  a  competent  judge, 
I  endeavored  to  ascertain  by  his  countenance,  rather 
than  by  his  words,  the  opinion  he  had  formed  of  this 
piece.  He  listened  to  it  without  knitting  his  brows ; 
but  I,  who  had  read  it  before,  was  seized  as  I  reached 
the  middle  of  the  second  act  with  a  depression  of  spirits, 
which  augmented  so  much  that  I  could  not  finish  the 
third.  Impelled  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  I  took  hold 
of  the  manuscript,  and  threw  it  into  the  fire  before  which 
we  were  seated.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  this  fire  had  been 
purposely  lighted  to  induce  me  to  execute  so  severe  and 
prompt  an  act  of  justice.  My  companion,  astonished 
at  such  a  strange  and  unexpected  occurrence,  for  I  had 
not  uttered  a  syllable  which  could  lead  him  to  suspect 
my  design,  endeavored  to  save  my  tragedy  from  the 
flames,  but  grasping  the  tongs  in  my  blind  rage  I 
pushed  poor  Sophonisba  between  the  two  or  three 
fagots  of  wood  which  burnt  in  the  grate,  so  that  it 
was  impossible  to  rescue  it.  I  quitted  not  my  instru- 


294  MEMOIRS   OF 

inent  till  I  was  satisfied  the  whole  was  consumed. 
This  paroxysm  of  frenzy  was  similar  to  that  I  ex- 
perienced when  I  assaulted  iny  poor  Elias  at.  Madrid. 
I  blushed  not,  however,  so  much  on  the  present  oc- 
casion, and  on  the  whole  it  was  followed  with  rather 
beneficial  consequences.  It  confirmed  the  opinion  I 
had  before  entertained  respecting  the  subject  of  this 
tragedy :  it  is  truly  shocking,  exhibiting  at  once  a  false 
tragic  character,  which  it  is  impossible  to  preserve 
throughout.  I  resolved  to  think  of  it  no  more ;  but  the 
resolutions  of  a  poet  are  like  maternal  anger.  A  few 
months  afterwards,  the  original  sketch  of  the  unfortu- 
nate Sophonisba,  thus  sacrificed,  fell  into  my  hands. 
I  read  it  over,  and  found  something  to  commend : 
hence  I  was  induced  once  more  to  attempt  its  versifica- 
tion, to  abridge  it,  and  endeavor  by  the  excellence  of 
the  style  to  supply,  or  at  least  conceal,  the  inherent 
faults  of  the  subject.  Though  I  was  then  as  now  fully 
persuaded  that  it  could  never  be  rendered  a  tragedy  of 
the  first  order,  I  had  not  the  courage  to  relinquish  it, 
because  it  was  the  only  subject  which  could  enable  me 
to  portray  the  grand  and  heroic  sentiments  of  the  Ro- 
mans and  Carthaginians.  I  am  even  proud  of  some 
scenes  in  this  feeble  tragedy. 

At  this  period  it  appeared  to  me  that  a  complete 
edition  of  my  tragedies  was  much  wanted,  and  I  de- 
termined to  avail  myself  of  my  present  residence  in 
Paris  to  commence  this  undertaking,  resolved  to  spare 
neither  expense  nor  fatigue  to  render  it  perfect,  arid 
worthy  of  public  patronage. 

In  May,  1787,  the  first  volume  of  my  tragedies  was  put 
to  press :  this  was  only  intended  to  serve  as  a  kind  of 
mutual  pledge,  since  I  was  to  return  to  Alsace  in  June, 
where  it  was  my  intention  to  remain  till  the  following 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  295 

winter ;  consequently  the  impression  could  not  be  got 
forward,  though  arrangements  had  been  made  for 
transmitting  the  proofs  weekly  to  me  for  correction, 
Thus  I  pledged  myself  to  revisit  in  the  winter  this 
country,  to  which  I  had  always  the  greatest  repug- 
nance. I  took  care  that  love  and  glory  should  impel 
me  forward.  I  left  with  Didot  the  manuscripts  of  the 
preliminary  dissertations,  and  of  the  three  first  trage- 
dies, which  I  absurdly  conceived  could  receive  no 
farther  polish  or  improvement;  but  no  sooner  had 
some  of  the  sheets  been  printed,  than  I  perceived  how 
grossly  I  had  deceived  myself. 

My  love  of  tranquillity,  the  delightful  situation  of 
my  country-house,  the  society  of  my  cherished  friend, 
with  whom  I  now  constantly  resided,  my  books,  my 
favorite  horses,  —  all  these  objects  made  me  eagerly 
hasten  back  to  Alsace.  The  pleasure  I  hoped  to  derive 
from  this  excursion  was  also  greatly  heightened  by  my 
friend  Caluso  having  promised  to  spend  the  summer 
with  us.  He  was  the  best  and  most  worthy  man  I 
ever  knew,  and  the  only  friend  who  remained  to  me 
since  the  death  of  Gandellini.  Some  weeks  after  our 
arrival  in  Alsace,  my  fair  friend  and  I  set  out  express 
for  Geneva  to  meet  the  good  Abbe,  intending  to  return 
with  him  by  the  way  of  Switzerland  to  our  country- 
house  near  Colmar,  where  I  found  united  everything 
which  could  render  existence  desirable. 

The  want  of  an  enlightened  friend,  for  the  last  two 
years,  who  could  converse  in  Italian  and  on  Italian 
literature,  had  proved  extremely  injurious  to  me, 
especially  in  regard  to  the  art  of  versification.  It  is 
certain  that  if  Voltaire  and  Rousseau,  who  have  ac- 
quired so  much  renown  in  France,  had  wandered  during 
the  greatest  part  of  their  lives  in  countries  where  dif- 


296  MEMOIRS   OF 

ferent  languages  were  spoken,  and  where  they  could 
find  no  one  to  converse  with  in  their  own,  they  would 
not  have  had  the  perseverance  and  steadiness  to  write 
from  the  mere  love  of  literature,  or  for  their  own  satis- 
faction, as  I  have  done,  and  still  continue  to  do,  though 
compelled  to  associate  with  barbarians. 

We  can  justly  apply  to  the  rest  of  Europe,  and  even 
to  a  great  part  of  Italy  itself,  this  denomination  respect- 
ing everything  which  relates  to  Italian  literature.  If 
we  write  pure  Italian,  and  attempt  to  compose  verses 
in  imitation  of  the  style  of  Petrarch  and  Dante,  we 
may  well  inquire  if  there  is  one  man  in  Italy  who  could 
understand  and  relish  these  divine  authors.  To  say 
one  in  a  thousand  would  be  too  many.  Being,  how- 
ever, an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  the  sublime  and  beau- 
tiful, which  I  take  every  opportunity  to  proclaim,  I 
would  rather  compose  in  a  language  which  may  be 
almost  termed  dead,  and  for  a  people  nearly  extinct. 
I  would  rather,  I  affirm,  be  unknown  to  my  contempo- 
raries than  write  in  the  harsh  and  unharmonious  French 
and  English,  though  their  cannons  and  their  armies 
have  rendered  these  languages  fashionable.  I  would 
rather  be  the  author  of  ten  good  Italian  verses,  even 
with  the  certainty  of  seeing  them  despised  and  neglected 
for  the  moment,  than  write  in  either  English,  French, 
or  any  similar  jargon,  the  merit  of  which  consists  solely 
in  the  powers  of  the  speaker,  though  assured  that  my 
productions  would  be  everywhere  read,  admired,  and 
applauded.  There  is  a  great  difference  to  our  own 
ears  in  sounding* a  fine-toned  lyre,  even  when  no  one 
is  present  to  listen,  and  blowing  a  detestable  French 
horn,  however  much  an  ignorant  audience  might  ap- 
plaud the  performance. 

I  frequently   vented    my   indignation   in   a   similar 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  297 

strain  to  the  worthy  Abbe,  which  never  failed  to  tran- 
quillize my  mind.  The  happiness,  which  was  to  me 
equally  new  as  delightful,  of  passing  my  days  with  two 
worthy  and  dearly  cherished  beings,  did  not  long  con- 
tinue. An  accident  happened  to  my  friend,  which 
soon  disturbed  our  repose.  One  day,  when  riding  to- 
gether, he  fell  from  his  horse,  and  dislocated  his  wrist. 
At  first  I  believed  he  had  fractured  his  arm,  or  even 
sustained  a  greater  injury,  which  agitated  me  very 
much ;  but  very  soon  I  had  not  to  lament  for  my  friend 
alone.  In  two  days  I  was  myself  attacked  with  a  vio- 
lent and  obstinate  dysentery,  the  progress  of  which  was 
so  rapid  that  in  fifteen  days  I  was  reduced  to  the  last 
extremity.  It  was  not  accompanied  with  fever,  but  I 
was  so  much  exhausted,  and  my  natural  heat  so  greatly 
diminished,  that  the  fomentations  of  aromatized  wine, 
which  were  applied  to  my  stomach  and  bowels,  in 
order  to  impart  some  degree  of  activity  to  those  weak- 
ened organs,  though  so  extremely  hot  as  to  take  off 
my  skin,  as  well  as  that  from  the  hands  of  the  domes- 
tics, nevertheless  conveyed  to  me  such  a  sensation  of 
cold  as  proved  extremely  disagreeable.  My  vitality 
seemed  completely  extinguished,  except  in  my  head, 
which,  though  weak,  was  perfectly  clear.  At  the  end 
of  fifteen  days  my  malady  began  to  abate,  and  gradu- 
ally diminished  till  the  thirtieth.  In  six  weeks  I  was 
convalescent,  but  reduced  to  a  perfect  skeleton,  and  so 
extremely  feeble,  that  during  fourteen  weeks  I  was 
obliged  to  be  lifted  into  another  bed  while  my  own  was 
adjusted.  I  truly  despaired  of  my  recovery  :  I  shud- 
dered at  the  idea  of  death  :  I  could  not  think  with 
calmness  on  leaving  my  two  worthy  friends,  and  re- 
linquishing that  fame,  which  for  ten  years  I  had  toiled 
to  obtain,  and  the  dawn  of  which  I  had  just  begun  to 


298  MEMOIRS   OF 

perceive.  I  was  fully  conscious  that  none  of  my  works 
were  so  perfect  as  I  could  have  rendered  them  had 
more  time  heen  allowed  me.  On  the  other  hand,  I  con- 
soled myself  with  the  reflection  that  since  I  must  leave 
this  world  I  should  die  without  having  become  a  slave, 
and  that  two  persons  who  were  the  most  dear  to  me, 
and  whose  esteem  and  friendship  I  flattered  myself  I 
had  merited,  would  watch  over  my  last  moments,  and, 
in  short,  that  I  should  quit  life  without  having  expe- 
rienced any  of  those  moral  and  physical  evils  which 
accompany  old  age. 

Fate,  however,  spared  my  life,  and  my  tragedies  re- 
ceived the  last  polish  from  my  own  hands.  I  shall  be 
sufficiently  compensated  for  all  my  labor  if  they  pre- 
serve my  name  from  being  consigned  to  oblivion. 

My  health,  as  I  have  already  said,  became  re-estab- 
lished, but  my  head  continued  so  weak  that  I  was 
unable  to  bestow  on  the  proofs  of  the  three  first  trage- 
dies, which  passed  successively  through  my  hands  in 
the  space  of  four  months,  the  tenth  part  of  those  cor- 
rections which  I  might  otherwise  have  made  in  them. 
This  was  the  reason  why  two  years  afterwards,  when 
the  edition  was  completed,  I  reprinted  them.  My 
only  object  in  taking  such  a  step  was  a  desire  to  do 
justice  to  the  dramatic  art,  and  perhaps  to  secure  my 
own  reputation.  There  are  certainly  very  few  individ- 
uals who  could  understand  or  attend  to  the  various 
alterations  I  made  in  them  with  respect  to  style ; 
changes  which,  taken  singly,  appear  extremely  trifling, 
but  which,  in  the  aggregate,  are  more  important  than 
is  generally  conceived. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  299 


XVIII. 

MY  health  was  somewhat  re-established,  when  the 
worthy  Abbe,  who  was  perfectly  recovered  from  his 
accident,  and  who  had  some  literary  occupations  at 
Turin,  where  he  was  secretary  to  the  Academy  of  Sci- 
ences, proposed  to  take  a  journey  to  Strasburg,  before 
departing  for  Italy.  Though  still  feeble,  I  was  anx- 
ious to  accompany  him,  in  order  to  prolong  the  satisfac- 
tion I  felt  in  his  society ;  and  we  accordingly  set  out, 
accompanied  by  my  fair  friend,  on  this  excursion,  in 
the  month  of  October.  We  proceeded  to  view  the 
magnificent  printing-press  belonging  to  M.  de  Beau- 
marchais  at  Kehl,  and  Baskerville's  types,  which  were 
to  be  employed  in  printing  a  complete  edition  of  Vol- 
taire's works.  The  beauty  of  these  characters,  the 
accuracy  of  the  workmen,  the  intimacy  which  had 
subsisted  between  me  and  M.  de  Beaumarchais  at 
Paris,  all  rendered  me  anxious  to  engage  him  to  print 
the  whole  of  my  works,  except  my  dramatic  produc- 
tions, and  which  would  have  experienced  many 
obstacles  from  the  censors  then  existing  in  France, 
whose  cavilling  and  delays  were  extremely  vexatious. 
I  always  felt  the  greatest  reluctance  in  submitting  to 
the  revision  which  preceded  the  .printing.  I  neither 
desire  nor  expect  to  be  suffered  to  print  everything,  but 
I  have  in  this  respect  adopted  the  laws  of  England, 
which  I  will  hold  by.  I  never  composed  any  work 
which  I  could  not  have  published  with  the  greatest 
freedom  in  that  country,  without  any  blame  being  at- 
tached either  to  the  author  or  printer.  Complete  free- 
dom of  opinion,  a  profound  respect  for  the  laws,  and  an 
anxious  wish  not  to  injure  any  individual:  such  have 
always  been  the  rules  I  prescribed  to  myself. 


300  *  MEMOIRS   OF 

After  having  obtained  from  Beaumarchais  permission 
to  employ  his  printing-press,  I  took  advantage  of  my 
present  excursion  to  leave  the  manuscript  of  my  five 
Odes  on  American  Independence,  which,  being  a  small 
work,  I  intended  should  serve  as  a  specimen.  The 
impression  was  so  beautiful  and  so  accurate  that  dur- 
ing the  two  succeeding  years  I  printed  at  this  press  all 
my  other  works  which  I  have  published  or  intend  to 
publish. 

From  Strasburg  we  returned  to  Colmar,  and  a  few 
days  afterwards,  towards  the  end  of  October,  my  wor- 
thy friend  departed  for  Turin,  leaving  me  full  of  regret 
for  his  absence,  and  anxious  again  to  enjoy  his  society. 
We  remained  the  whole  of  November,  and  part  of 
December,  in  the  country.  During  this  period  my 
strength  became  gradually  recruited,  and  I  employed 
myself  in  versifying  the  second  Brutus,  which  I  could 
correct  and  polish  at  leisure,  as  it  was  intended  to  be 
the  last  piece  in  the  collection. 

I  arrived  in  Paris,  where  I  had  agreed  to  take  up 
my  residence.  Here  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  find  a 
very  pleasant  and  quiet  residence  in  the  Faubourg 
Saint  Germain,  at  the  termination  of  Mont  Parnasse. 
The  situation  was  beautiful,  the  view  picturesque, 
and  the  air  excellent.  We  here  enjoyed  all  the  soli- 
tude of  the  country.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  were 
once  more  in  Rome,  at  the  Baths  of  Diocletian.  I  had 
presented  my  fair  friend  with  the  half  of  my  horses,  not 
only  because  she  was  in  want  of  them,  but  in  order  to 
free  myself  from  the  expense  and  trouble  they  oc- 
casioned me  j  the  other  half  I  transported,  not  without 
considerable  difficulty,  to  Paris.  Once  settled,  I  busied 
myself  in  tlie  fatiguing  and  disagreeable  business  of 
correcting  the  press,  which  occupied  me  during  three 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  301 

whole  years.  In  February,  1783,  iny  friend  received 
information  from  Rome  of  the  death  of  her  husband, 
where  he  had  resided  for  two  years.  Although  an  ill- 
ness under  which  he  had  labored  for  several  months 
might  have  prepared  her  for  this  event ;  though  she 
was  left  a  widow,  and  absolute  mistress  of  herself; 
though  she  had  lost  in  him  only  a  tyrant,  and  not  a 
friend,  I  was  an  eyewitness  to  the  surprise  and  grief 
which  she  testified  on  this  occasion,  and  which  was 
neither  feigned  nor  exaggerated  ;  never  could  dissimu- 
lation find  entrance  into  a  heart  so  noble  and  pure  as 
hers.  Unquestionably,  her  husband,  notwithstanding 
the  great  disparity  of  their  years,  might  have  found  in 
her  a  valuable  companion,  and  if  not  a  woman  who 
loved  him,  at  least  a  true  friend,  had  he  not  disgusted 
and  persecuted  her  by  his  harsh  and  brutal  manners. 
I  must  here  bear  testimony  to  the  truth. 

It  was  at  this  period  that  the  panegyric  I  had  written 
in  1787  fell  in  my  Avay.  I  found  in  it  much  to  correct, 
which  I  immediately  set  about,  being  anxious  that  it 
should  proceed  from  the  press  of  Didot,  as  I  wished  all 
my  works  to  be  well  printed.  I  added  to  it  an  ode  on 
the  destruction  of  the  Bastile,  which  I  had  composed, 
having  been  an  eyewitness  of  the  commencement  of 
the  troubles  in  Paris ;  and  I  terminated  this  volume 
by  a  little  apologue  applicable  to  existing  circum- 
stances. 

XIX. 

DURING  the  month  of  April,  1789,  I  lived  in  per- 
petual disquiet ;  I  dreaded  every  moment  lest  the 
public  tumults,  which  occurred  at  Paiis  since  the 
convocation  of  the  states-general,  might  prevent  me 
from  completing  the  impression  of  my  works,  and  that, 


302  MEMOIRS   OF 

after  all  my  labor,  toil,  and  expense,  I  should  suffer 
shipwreck  when  almost  in  sight  of  a  haven  to  shelter 
my  weather-beaten  bark.  I  hurried  on  the  execution 
of  the  work  as  much  as  possible,  but  Didot's.  workmen 
did  not  co-operate  with  my  exertions :  they  were  so 
completely  absorbed  in  politics,  that  they  spent  whole 
days  in  reading  newspapers,  instead  of  proceeding  with 
the  printing  of  my  book.  I  thought  they  were  all 
mad :  my  joy,  therefore,  may  be  readily  conceived, 
when  the  day  at  length  arrived  on  whicli  my  tragedies 
were  packed  up,  and  forwarded  to  Italy  and  other 
countries.  My  satisfaction,  however,  was  not  of  long 
duration;  things  proceeded  from  bad  to  worse:  the 
public  safety  and  tranquillity  diminished  every  day, 
while  in  a  proportionate  degree  uncertainty,  and  the 
most  ominous  presages  of  the  future,  became  aug- 
mented. When  individuals,  like  my  fair  friend  and 
I,  are  surrounded  by  monkeys,  and  have  to  do  with 
them,  it  is  impossible  to  remain  at  ease,  since  it  cannot 
be  affirmed  that  the  desire  of  doing  mischief  may  not 
seize  them. 

During  one  year  I  saw  and  witnessed  in  silence  the 
progress  of  the  deplorable  effects  resulting  from  the 
learned  ignorance  of  this  nation,  which  can  copiously 
prattle  on  every  subject,  but  which  will  never  ultimately 
succeed  in  anything,  because  it  understands  not  the 
practical  mode  of  managing  mankind,  as  our  political 
prophet  Machiavel  long  ago  remarked.  My  heart  was 
torn  asunder  on  beholding  the  holy  and  sublime  cause 
of  liberty  betrayed  by  self-called  philosophers,  —  so 
much  did  I  revolt  at  witnessing  their  ignorance,  their 
folly,  and  their  crimes ;  at  beholding  the  military  power, 
and  the  insolence  and  licentiousness  of  the  civilians  stu- 
pidly made  the  basis  of  what  they  termed  political  lib- 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  303 

erty,  that  I  henceforth  desired  nothing  more  ardently 
than  to  leave  a  country  which,  like  a  lunatic  hospital, 
contained  only  fools  or  incurahles.  I  should  have  then 
left  it  without  delay,  if  my  better  half  had  not  been 
detained  by  unfortunate  circumstances. 

Rendered  almost  stupid  by  the  continual  doubts  and 
fears  which  I  had  experienced  since  the  impression  of 
my  tragedies,  I  led  a  life  of  gloomy  despondency,  and 
might  rather  be  said  to  vegetate  than  to  live.  My 
mind  had  become  so  torpid  and  inactive  by  having  so 
long  been  occupied  with  correcting  and  other  concerns 
of  the  printing-press,  that  I  was  rendered  almost 
incapable  of  any  dignified  or  laudable  pursuit.  I 
daily,  however,  received  information  from  all  quarters, 
to  which  my  dramatic  works  had  been  forwarded,  that 
they  sold  well,  and  gave  general  satisfaction :  but  as 
I  only  received  this  intelligence  from  individuals 
who  were  my  friends,  or  were  benevolently  disposed 
towards  me,  I  did  not  place  such  implicit  reliance  on 
it  as  to  abandon  myself  to  that  joy  which  I  otherwise 
should  have  felt  on  the  occasion.  In  short,  I  resolved 
equally  to  disregard  praise  and  censure,  unless  sup- 
ported by  correct  and  impartial  reasoning.  But 
though  I  anxiously,  and  on  every  occasion,  invited 
philosophic  criticism,  which  would  have  proved  not 
less  beneficial  to  my  productions  than  to  the  dramatic 
art  in  general,  I  never  could  obtain  it.  I  regarded 
anything  else  as  unworthy  of  notice :  I  knew  before- 
hand what  would  be  said;  nevertheless,  I  spared 
neither  attention  nor  time  to  render  my  pieces  as 
perfect  as  possible.  My  memory  may,  perhaps,  be 
more  honored,  since,  though  undeceived  in  regard  to 
all  my  expectations,  I  yet  persevered  in  endeavoring 
to  write  well,  rather  than  to  write  quickly,  and 


304  MEMOIRS    OF 

because  I  have  never  yielded  up  my  opinions  but  to 
the  omnipotence  of  truth  alone. 

With  regard  to  my  different  works  printed  at  Kehl, 
I  wished  only  at  the  time  to  publish  that  on  American 
Independence,  and  on  Departed  Virtue,  reserving  the 
others  for  a  less  disastrous  period.  I  was  anxious  that 
no  one  should  accuse  me,  of  what  I  certainly  did  not 
deserve,  leaguing  myself  with  villains,  by  promulgat- 
ing similar  doctrines,  which,  however,  they  neither 
understood,  nor  were  capable  of  putting  in  practice. 
Notwithstanding  this  resolution,  I  was  inclined  to 
print  them,  because,  as  I  have  already  stated,  a  favor- 
able opportunity  offered  for  this  purpose,  and  because 
I  was  convinced  that  the  posthumous  works  of  any 
author  are  extremely  different  from  those  printed  dur- 
ing his  lifetime.  No  work  can  be  pronounced  finished 
till  it  has  received  the  last  corrections  of  the  author 
in  going  through  the  press.  This,  indeed,  will  not 
render  a  production  perfect,  as  may  too  frequently  be 
observed,  but  at  least  it  cannot  be  so  without  it. 

I  here  terminate  this  biographical  sketch  at  Paris, 
on  the  27th  of  May,  1790,  at  the  age  of  forty-one 
years  and  a  few  months.  The  sorrowful  presenti- 
ments with  which  I  was  overwhelmed,  the  state  of 
torpid  inactivity  into  which  I  had  fallen,  as  well  as  the 
consciousness,  which  I  do  not  hesitate  to  avow,  of  not 
having  altogether  lived  in  vain,  during  the  last  four- 
teen years  of  my  life,  were  among  the  principal  causes 
which  induced  me  to  undertake  it.  I  am  determined 
not  to  read  over  again  this  trifling  production  till  my 
sixtieth  year,  if  I  shall  ever  reach  it,  at  which  period 
I  must  certainly  have  terminated  my  literary  career. 
Then  I  shall  revise  it  with  all  the  apathy  natural  to 
senescence,  and  superadd  to  it  the  details  of  my  pur- 


V1TTORIO   ALFIERL  305 

suits  during  the  ten  or  fifteen  years  following.  If  I 
succeed  in  two  or  three  different  kinds  of  literary  com- 
position, in  which  I  propose  to  try  my  last  strength,  I 
shall  subjoin  an  account  of  these  labors  to  the  epoch 
of  my  riper  years ;  while,  on  the  contrary,  should  the 
subsequent  years  of  my  life  prove  altogether  sterile,  I 
shall  commence,  on  resuming  my  general  narrative, 
with  the  fifth  period,  my  old  age  and  second  child- 
hood. If  I  still  then  retain  sufficient  reason  and  judg- 
ment, it  must  be  necessarily  very  brief,  as  being  in 
every  respect  void  of  utility. 

If,  however,  as  is  most  probable,  I  should  die  in  the 
interval,  I  entreat  all  those  who  may  take  an  interest 
in  my  concerns,  and  into  whose  hands  this  production 
may  fall,  to  make  what  use  of  it  they  think  proper. 
Should  they  publish  it  in  its  present  state,  I  flatter 
myself  they  will  discover  throughout  at  the  same  time 
indications  of  candor  and  of  precipitation,  which  I 
trust  may  lead  them  to  palliate  any  faults  in  the  style. 
Nothing  farther  will  be  necessary  to  complete  my  biog- 
raphy, than  for  my  friends  to  subjoin  an  account  of 
the  time,  place,  and  manner  of  my  death.  With  re- 
gard to  the  state  of  my  mind  at  this  juncture,  they 
may  boldly  assure  the  reader,  in  my  name,  that  I 
have  but  too  feelingly  experienced  the  vanity  and 
deceit  of  this  world,  and  that  I  feel  no  other  pang  in 
quitting  it,  except  that  which  is  inseparably  associated 
with  the  idea  of  separating  from  my  fair  and  inestima- 
ble friend :  and  as,  during  the  remainder  of  my  days, 
I  value  existence  for  her  sake  alone,  I  am  neither  agi- 
tated nor  appalled  by  any  other  reflection  than  that  of 
losing  her.  I  ask  from  Heaven  only  one  boon,  —  that 
I  may  be  the  first  to  quit  this  vale  of  tears.  If,  how- 
ever, the  friends  into  whose  hands  these  manuscripts 


306  MEMOIRS   OF 

may  fall  should  think  it  necessary  to  commit  them  to 
the  flames,  they  are  at  liberty  to  do  so.  I  merely 
supplicate,  should  they  be  disposed  to  publish  these 
memoirs,  that  however  they  may  think  proper  to 
abridge,  or  alter  them,  with  respect  to  style,  they  will 
neither  amplify  nor  retrench,  nor  suppress  any  of  the 
facts  I  have  detailed.  If,  in  composing  this  biograph- 
ical sketch,  my  first  object  had  not  been  to  depict 
myself  such  as  I  really  am,  and  to  exhibit  myself 
without  disguise  to  those  few  who  may  wish  to  be 
made  acquainted  with  my  character,  I  should  doubt- 
less have  compressed  the  account  of  these  forty-one 
years  of  my  life,  and  with  a  studied  brevity  arid  dis- 
sembled pride,  not  unworthy  of  Tacitus,  reduced  them 
to  three  or  four  pages  at  most.  But  I  chose  rather 
to  portray  the  features  of  my  character  than  to  dis- 
play my  wit  and  genius  as  a  writer.  Whatever  little 
ability  I  may  possess,  I  have  bestowed  on  my  other 
productions,  while  in  these  memoirs  I  wished  merely 
to  lay  open  my  heart,  and,  like  an  egotistical  old  man, 
to  descant  on  myself,  and  consequently  on  man,  such 
as  he,  really  is  when  undisguised,  and  without  a 
mask. 

XX. 

NOTE.  —  My  first  occupation,  on  finally  settling  at  Florence, 
was  the  perusal  of  the  biographical  sketch  I  had  written  at 
Paris  thirteen  years  before,  the  style  of  which  I  now  endeavored 
to  improve  and  render  more  easy  and  harmonious.  Being  thus 
recalled  to  the  contemplation  of  myself,  I  was  induced  to  give 
an  account  of  my  literary  productions  during  this  intervening 
period,  as  some  of  them  appeared  to  me  not  wholly  devoid  of 
interest.  As  my  physical  and  moral  faculties  proportionally 
decline  as  I  descend  into  the  vale  of  years  ;  as,  moreover,  it  is 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  307 

highly  probable  that  my  literary  career  is  forever  closed,  this 
second  part,  which  will  be  much  shorter  than  the  first,  will  also, 
I  flatter  myself,  be  the  last.  Having  now  nearly  completed  my 
eleventh  lustrum,  and  no  longer  possessing  either  the  mental 
or  corporeal  vigor  necessary  to  literary  composition,  I  could 
have  indeed  little  to  add  to  the  account  already  given. 

WHILE  I  led,  as  I  have  already  said,  an  uneasy  and 
indolent  life  at  Paris,  though  I  contemplated  many  pro- 
jects, yet  I  found  myself  incapable  of  executing  any 
of  them.  In  the  month  of  June,  1790,  I  undertook, 
for  the  sake  of  amusement,  to  translate  some  detached 
portions  of  the  ^Erieid.  The  pieces  I  selected  on  this 
occasion  were  those  from  the  perusal  of  which  I  had 
derived  the  highest  gratification.  On  finding  that  this 
occupation  proved  to  me  no  less  useful  than  agreeable, 
I  entered  on  the  first  book.  What,  moreover,  stim- 
ulated me  to  this  undertaking  was  the  dread  of  losing 
the  habit  I  had  acquired  of  composing  blank  verse. 
As,  however,  I  became  weary  of  this  monotonous  em- 
ployment, in  order  to  diversify  my  pursuits,  I  undertook 
also  the  translation  of  Terence.  The  study  of  so  ex- 
cellent a  model  would,  I  trusted,  enable  rne  at  a  sub- 
sequent period  to  write  comedies,  and  facilitate  my 
acquisition  of  a  style  in  this  species  of  dramatic  writing, 
not  less  original  than  that  which  I  had  formerly  em- 
ployed in  the  composition  of  tragedies.  Thus  I  trans- 
lated every  other  day  alternately  Virgil  and  Terence, 
till  I  quitted  Paris,  towards  the  end  of  April,  when  I 
had  accomplished  the  translation  of  the  four  first  books 
of  the  ^Eneid,  and  three  of  Terence's  comedies,  —  the 
Andriari,  the  Eunuch,  and  the  Self- Tormentor.  With 
a  view  to  dissipate  the  gloomy  reflections  associated  in 
my  mind  with  passing  occurrences,  I  directed  my  atten- 
tion to  the  improvement  of  my  memory,  which  attention 


308  MEMOIRS   OF 

to  the  composition  and  printing  of  my  works  had  made 
me  wholly  overlook.     I  read  over  again  with  enthu- 
siasm  various   choice   pieces   of  Horace,   Virgil,   and 
Juvenal,  as  well  as  Dante,  Petrarch,  Tasso,  and  Ariosto, 
thus  storing  my  mind  with  verse.     While  these  occu- 
pations rendered  my  imagination  torpid,  they  deprived 
me  of  the  faculty  of  executing  anything  which  solely 
depended  on  myself.     Of  six  melo-tragedies,  which  I 
had  it  in  contemplation  to  compose,  I  succeeded  only 
in  perfecting  Abel.     Distracted  by  such  various  pur- 
suits, my  time,  my  youth,  and  the  enthusiasm  necessary 
for  such  undertakings,  were  irretrievably  lost.     During 
the  last  year  I  remained  at  Paris,  and  the  two  following, 
passed  in  different  places,  I  composed  nothing  except  a 
few  epigrams  and  some  sonnets,  to  which  I  was  excited 
by  my  just  indignation  against  the  slave-trade,  and  the 
melancholy  state  of  my  mind.     I  also  attempted  to 
write  a  mixed  drama,  entitled  Count  Ugolino,  which  I 
wished  to  add  to  my  melo-tragedies.     But  after  having 
conceived   it,  I   did  not   succeed  in   its  development. 
Daring  the  month  of  October,  1790,  I  undertook,  in 
company  with  my  fair  friend,  a  short  excursion  into 
Normandy  by  the  way  of  Rouen,  Caen,  and  Havre  ; 
this  province,  which  I  had  never  before  seen,  highly 
gratified  and  soothed  my  mind.     These  three  last  years, 
which  were  devoted  to  the  printing  of  my  works  and 
passed  in  affliction,  had  altogether  exhausted  my  mental 
and  corporeal  powers.     Observing,  during  the  month 
of  April,  that  affairs  in  France  became  every  day  more 
embroiled,  I  determined,  if  possible,  to  seek  a  more 
secure  asylum  elsewhere.     Besides,  as  my  fair  friend 
wished  much  to  visit  England,  a  country  differing  in  so 
many  respects  from  every  other,  I  determined  to  em- 
brace the  opportunity  of  accompanying  her  thither,  and 
we  accordingly  set  out  on  this  journey  without  delay. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  309 


XXI. 

WE  set  out  on  this  journey  towards  the  latter  end  of 
April,  1791,  and  as  we  intended  to  remain  for  a  con- 
siderable time  in  England,  we  took  with  us  our  horses, 
and  gave  up  our  house  in  Paris.  We  reached  London 
in  a  very  few  days.  While  my  fair  friend  was  highly 
delighted  writh  this  country  in  a  variety  of  respects,  she 
was  but  little  pleased  with  it  in  regard  to  some  others. 
As  for  me,  to  whom  the  country  was  not  new,  though 
I  still  admired  it  on  account  of  its  government,  this 
admiration  was  not  so  excessive  as  on  my  two  former 
visits.  The  climate  and  mode  of  living  wrere  also  less 
agreeable  to  me  than  on  my  third  visit.  The  protracted 
pleasures  of  the  table,  and  the  sitting  up  till  two  or 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  constituted  a  mode  of  life 
not  less  unfavorable  to  literary  pursuits  than  to  the 
enjoyment  of  mental  and  bodily  vigor. 

I  soon  became  attacked  with  an  irregular  gout, 
which,  in  this  cursed  island,  is  absolutely  indigenous ; 
and  as  soon  as  the  charm  of  novelty  was  over  with  my 
friend,  we  longed  to  quit  England.  It  wTas  in  the  month 
of  June,  this  year,  that  Louis  XVI.,  on  attempting  to 
leave  his  kingdom,  was  forced  back  from  Varennes,  and 
more  closely  guarded  than  ever.  In  consequence  of 
this  event,  the  political  horizon  became  daily  more 
gloomy,  and  we  felt  ourselves  extremely  embarrassed 
with  regard  to  our  pecuniary  concerns.  Each  of  us 
had  three  fourths  of  our  property  in  France,  wTherc 
specie  had  wholly  disappeared,  and  paper  money  had 
been  issued  to  a  vast  amount  to  supply  its  place.  This 
daily  fell  in  value,  and  we  soon  found  our  property  in 
consequence  of  this  rapid  depreciation  reduced  to  almost 


310  MEMOIRS   OF 

nothing.  Gloomy,  and  forced  by  imperious  necessity, 
we  determined  to  submit  to  it,  and,  dismal  as  was  the 
prospect  before  our  eyes,  it  behooved  us  to  return  to 
France  as  the  only  country  in  which  we  could  subsist 
on  our  depreciated  paper.  During  the  month  of  August, 
before  quitting  England,  we  visited  Bath,  Bristol,  and 
Oxford.  We  then  returned  to  London,  whence  we  set 
out  for  Dover,  and  embarked  a  few  days  afterwards  for 
France. 

While  I  remained  at  this  place  a  romantic  adventure 
occurred  to  me,  which  I  shall  here  briefly  relate.  Dur- 
ing my  third  journey  to  England,  in  J783  and  1784,  1 
neither  learned  nor  sought  to  obtain  any  tidings  re- 
specting the  lady  on  whose  account  1  had  exposed  my- 
self to  so  many  risks.  I  only  knew  from  public  report 
that  she  had  quitted  London,  that  her  husband  died 
shortly  after  obtaining  the  divorce,  and  that  she  had 
espoused  an  unknown  and  obscure  individual.  During 
the  four  months  which  I  spent  in  England,  I  never 
heard  so  much  as  her  name  pronounced,  and  knew  not 
even  if  she  still  existed.  When  ready  to  embark,  I 
wished  to  go  on  board  the  packet-boat  about  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  before  my  fair  friend,  in  order  to  see  if  every- 
thing was  in  readiness.  When  on  the  point  of  entering 
it,  casting  my  eyes  towards  the  beach,  where  a  great  con- 
course of  people  had  assembled,  the  first  object  I  be- 
held was  the  woman  of  whom  I  had  once  been  so  deeply 
enamored.  She  appeared  scarcely  less  lovely  than 
what  she  had  been  twenty  years  before.  At  first  sight 
I  thought  I  recognized  her,  but  on  looking  more  stead- 
fastly, she  cast  on  me  a  gracious  smile,  which  convinced 
me  I  was  not  mistaken.  The  emotions  which  were 
excited  in  my  mind  on  again  beholding  her,  I  find  my- 
self utterly  incompetent  to  describe.  I  had  sufficient 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  311 

resolution,  however,  to  avoid  speaking  to  her,and,  jump- 
ing immediately  into  the  packet-boat,  did  not  again  go 
ashore.  Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  my  fair  friend 
came  on  board,  and  the  anchor  was  immediately  weighed. 
She  informed  me  that  some  persons,  in  accompanying 
her  aboard  the  packet,  had  not  only  pointed  out  the 
lady,  but  given  her  name,  and  some  anecdotes  of  her 
past  and  present  modes  of  life.  I  related  to  my  friend, 
between  whom  and  myself  no  dissimulation  was  ever 
practised,  the  manner  in  which  I  had  recognized  her. 
On  landing  at  Calais,  finding  myself  still  affected  by 
the  unexpected  sight  of  a  woman  on  whose  account  I 
had  been  led  to  commit  so  many  acts  of  extravagance, 
I  thought  it  incumbent  on  me  to  address  her  by  letter, 
which  I  sent  under  cover  to  a  banker  at  Dover,  re- 
questing him  to  deliver  it  into  her  own  hands,  and  to 
forward  her  answer  to  me  at  Brussels,  where  I  should 
arrive  in  a  few  days.  I  am  now  truly  grieved  that  I 
did  not  keep  a  copy  of  this  letter,  which  must  doubtless 
have  been  filled  with  the  most  impassioned  sentiments. 
These  were  not  dictated  by  any  latent  love  on  my  part, 
but  merely  inspired  by  a  feeling  of  sorrow  and  regret, 
on  account  of  her  unsettled  and  wandering  life,  so  little 
suitable  to  her  former  rank  and  condition  in  society. 

On  our  landing  at  Calais,  we  resolved,  previous  to 
returning  to  our  prison  in  France,  to  make  a  tour 
through  the  United  Provinces,  as  my  friend  wished  to 
avail  herself  of  an  opportunity  which  might  never 
again  return,  of  viewing  a  country  which  exhibits  so 
conspicuous  an  example  of  the  efforts  of  human  in- 
dustry. 

We  travelled  along  the  coast  as  far  as  Bruges  and 
Ostend,  and  from  thence  proceeded  by  the  way  of  Ant- 
werp and  Rotterdam  to  Amsterdam,  the  Hague,  and 


312  MEMOIRS    OF 

North  Holland.  About  the  end  of  September  we  again 
returned  to  Brussels,  in  which  resided  the  mother  and 
sisters  of  my  amiable  friend.  After  spending  several 
weeks  in  this  city,  we  again  set  out  for  France,  in 
which  cruel  circumstances  compelled  us  to  take  up  our 
abode. 

XXII. 

Two  months  were  nearly  spent  before  we  could  find 
out  a  commodious  house,  and  furnish  it  suitably  to  our 
inclinations.  Though  we  flattered  ourselves  that  every 
succeeding  day  would  bring  tranquillity  and  peace,  yet 
we  more  frequently  despaired  of  such  a  desirable  change. 
During  this  alternate  fluctuation  between  hope  and 
fear,  my  friend  and  I,  like  every  one  who  resided  in 
Paris,  led  a  very  solitary  life.  The  books  left  behind 
at  Rome  in  J  733  had  been  forwarded,  according  to  my 
instructions,  nearly  two  years  ago :  these,  with  others 
I  had  purchased  during  my  residence  at  Paris,  London, 
and  Holland,  amounted  to  a  very  considerable  collec- 
tion. Thus,  I  possessed  all  that  was  essential  to  me  in 
my  contracted  literary  sphere.  In  the  enjoyment  of  my 
books,  and  the  society  of  my  inestimable  friend,  I  ex- 
perienced every  domestic  consolation.  My  happiness 
suffered  no  alloy,  excepting  from  a  dread  that  this  state 
of  peace  and  tranquillity  would  not  be  permanent.  This 
idea  finally  took  such  possession  of  my  mind  as  to  ren- 
der me  incapable  of  any  serious  study.  By  way  of 
occupying  myself,  however,  with  something,  I  prose- 
cuted my  translation  of  Virgil  and  Terence.  Neither 
during  my  last  nor  former  stay  at  Paris,  did  I  ever  wish 
to  associate  with,  or  to  be  personally  introduced  to  any 
of  the  demagogues  of  the  day,  for  whom  I  felt  the  most 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  313 

invincible  antipathy  and  the  most  profound  con- 
tempt. At  the  moment  I  am  writing,  I  can  boast 
that  during  the  fourteen  years  the  tragic  farce  lasted, 
I  was  uncontaminated  in  thought,  word,  or  deed, 
never  having  seen  or  held  any  correspondence  with 
the  despots  who  governed,  or  with  the  slaves  who 
trammelled  themselves  to  their  cars.  In  the  month  of 
March,  this  year,  I  received  letters  from  my  mother: 
they  were  the  last  she  ever  wrote  me,  and  expressed 
her  maternal  fears  for  my  safety,  in  a  country,  where, 
she  said,  anarchy  prevailed,  where  the  exercise  of  the 
Catholic  religion  was  no  longer  permitted  by  law,  and 
in  which  new  troubles  and  disorders  might  be  expected 
to  arise.  Her  predictions  were,  alas  !  too  soon  verified ; 
but  when  I  pursued  my  journey  to  Italy,  this  worthy 
and  excellent  woman  was  no  more.  She  quitted  this 
life  on  the  23d  of  April,  1792,  at  the  age  of  seventy 
years.  The  war  between  France  and  the  Emperor  of 
Germany,  which  proved  so  disastrous  in  the  sequel, 
had  now  been  declared.  In  the  month  of  June  at- 
tempts were  made  not  only  to  annihilate  royalty  itself, 
but  even  the  very  name  of  king.  The  conspiracy  hav- 
ing failed  to  accomplish  its  object  on  the  20th  of 
June,  things  continued  nearly  on  the  same  footing  till 
the  ever-memorable  10th  of  August,  when  it  again 
burst  forth.  It  will  not  be  here  improper  to  transcribe 
the  details  which  I  transmitted  of  this  affair  in  a  letter 
to  the  Abbe  Caluso,  written  on  the  14th  of  the  same 
month. 

"PAKis,  August  14, 1792. 

"Mr  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  The  conspiracy,  which  had  been  hatch- 
in  g  for  so  long  a  period,  at  length  burst  forth.  During  the  night 
of  the  9th  or  10th  instant,  the  populace  of  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Antoine  and  the  Faubourg  Saint-Marceau  began  to  assemble, 
and  take  up  arms ;  not  only  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  city,  but 


314  MEMOIRS   OF 

even  the  national  guards  quickly  followed  their  example,  and 
appeared  drawn  up  in  order  of  battle,  with  colors  flying;,  and 
supported  by  artillery.  This  vast  assemblage  arrived  between 
four  and  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  at  the  Palace  of  the  Tuile- 
ries,  which  was  defended  only  by  six  or  seven  hundred  Swiss, 
and  an  equal  number  of  national  guards  ;  on  the  majority  of 
the  latter,  however,  little  reliance  could  be  placed.  In  the  cas- 
tle were  about  three  hundred  gentlemen  devoted  to  the  king. 
Small  as  this  force  was,  the  palace  might  have  been  easily  de- 
fended, had  the  individuals  composing  it  made  proper  disposi- 
tions, and  instead  of  waiting  for  the  approach  of  the  assailants, 
immediately  advanced  to  attack  them.  I  ought  to  add  that  the 
cannoneers  themselves,  who  were  intermixed  with  the  Swiss 
and  national  guards,  were  suspected  of  disloyalty,  the  truth  of 
which  ulterior  events  but  too  fully  confirmed.  Under  a  diifer- 
ent  monarch  individuals  might  surely  have  been  found  who 
would  have  generously  sacrificed  themselves  to  the  support  of 
his  cause,  and  thus  afforded  a  memorable  example  to  posterity ; 
but  under  another  monarch  anarchy  and  popular  tumult  would 
have  been  quickly  stifled  in  the  birth.  Louis  XVI.  was  cer- 
tainly not  deficient  in  personal  courage,  but  it  much  more 
resembled  the  calm  fortitude  of  a  martyr  than  the  intrepidity 
of  a  prince  resolved  to  perish  rather  than  subject  himself  to 
degradation.  While  momentarily  expecting  an  attack,  a  mes- 
sage was  sent  him  by  the  treacherous  Assembly,  and  another  by 
the  still  more  treacherous  municipality.  They  each  observed, 
that  as  it  was  impossible  to  guarantee  the  safety  of  his  royal 
person  in  the  present  agitated  state  of  the  public  mind,  they 
therefore  invited  him,  and  the  rest  of  the  royal  family,  to  take 
shelter  in  the  bosom  of  the  Assembly,  while  the  communication 
remained  free  by  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries.  His  majesty, 
who  at  first  appeared  to  acquiesce  in  the  determination  of  his 
attendants  to  defend  him,  on  receiving  this  message  suddenly 
changed  his  mind,  and  took  refuge  with  his  family  and  a  few 
courtiers  in  the  Assembly.  In  the  mean  time  the  faithful  Swiss, 
the  cowardly  and  treacherous  guards,  with  his  majesty's  brave 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  315 

attendants,  who  had  resolved  to  die  in  his  defence,  were  shut 
up  as  in  a  cage.  As  soon  as  the  king  departed,  under  a  strong 
escort  of  national  guards,  every  passage  leading  from  the  palace 
to  the  gardens  was  secured  and  barricaded.  It  is  not  easy  to 
ascertain  whether  the  populace  or  the  Swiss  fired  first :  it 
seems,  however,  highly  probable  that  the  latter  would  not  be 
the  first  to  commit  this  act  of  aggression,  as,  besides  being  very 
disadvantageously  situated,  their  number  was  comparatively 
small  with  that  of  their  enemies  :  but  on  whichsoever  side  the 
firing  commenced,  it  is  certain  that  the  discharges  from  the 
cannon,  which  the  Swiss  had  pointed  towards  the  invested 
gate,  made  terrible  havoc  among  the  assailants,  and  obliged 
them  to  seek  their  safety  in  flight.  It  appears  that  if  the 
Swiss  and  the  three  hundred  gentlemen  had  immediately  sallied 
out  in  pursuit  of  them,  they  must  either  have  finally  overcome 
their  enemies,  or  fallen  gloriously  in  the  attempt ;  but  the 
want  of  a  leader  and  proper  dispositions  ruined  everything. 
The  fugitives  met,  as  they  were  flying  in  disorder  and  dismay, 
a  body  of  gendarmerie,  which  on  the  present  occasion  was 
composed  of  old  French  guards,  domestics,  liverymen  out  of 
employment,  and  other  rabble.  As  all  these  were  avowedly 
hostile  to  the  royal  cause,  they  encouraged  the  people,  and  led 
them  back  to  the  attack.  In  the  mean  time  the  national  guards, 
who  were  shut  up  with  the  Swiss,  seeing  the  attack  about  to  be 
renewed  with  an  additional  force,  turned  against  them.  Thus 
were  the  unfortunate  Swiss,  in  consequence  of  being  placed 
between  two  fires,  quickly  put  to  the  rout,  and,  flying  in  all 
directions,  were  most  of  them  inhumanly  butchered.  The  car- 
nage was  dreadful,  and  continued  during  that  and  the  following 
day.  As  soon  as  any  of  them  were  discovered,  whether  in  the 
streets,  or  wherever  concealed,  they  were  immediately  dragged 
forth,  and  immolated  by  the  infuriated  rabble.  Some  of  the 
gentlemen,  who  remained  in  the  palace,  fought  and  died  with  the 
Swiss  in  the  courts  below,  while  others,  having  opened  for  them- 
selves a  passage  into  the  gardens,  either  succeeded  in  saving 
themselves  or  met  death  in  their  flight.  The  palace,  however,  was 


316  MEMOIRS   OF 

not  pillaged,  though  everything  it  contained  was  broken  or  de- 
stroyed. The  people  slew  with  their  own  hands  all  whom  they 
caught  in  the  act  of  pilfering,  thus  wishing  by  a  show  of  jus- 
tice to  cover  their  own  enormities.  Throughout  the  whole 
aftair,  robbery  appeared  to  be  regarded  as  oue  of  the  seven  sins 
not  sanctioned  by  public  opinion,  while  all  the  others  merely 
changed  their  appellations,  and  served  as  a  basis  for  the  ex- 
isting system.  The  reason  of  this  tumult  is  self-evident.  The 
seditious  part  of  the  Assembly,  finding  they  could  not  secure  a 
majority  to  vote  for  the  dethronement  of  the  king,  stirred  up 
the  multitude  to  compass  at  once  the  downfall  of  Louis,  and 
the  destruction  of  the  monarchy.  During  the  remainder  of 
this  eventful  day  his  majesty  remained  in  the  Assembly,  and  at 
night  three  cells  in  the  adjoining  convent  of  the  Feuiliaus  were 
appropriated  for  the  accommodation  of  himself  and  his  family. 
They  were  suffered  to  remain  without  change  of  apparel :  a 
single  domestic  was  only  allowed  to  every  two  of  the  royal 
family,  and  their  table  was  supplied  from  a  common  tavern. 
The  few  gentlemen  who  had  attended  their  monarch  during  the 
first  and  second  day  were  dismissed  from  his  presence  by  order 
of  the  Assembly ;  in  short,  such  was  the  treatment  they  re- 
ceived, that  death  must  have  appeared  to  them  a  less  evil  than 
those  they  were  doomed  to  suffer.  The  new  constitution  is 
annihilated  :  all  power,  at  present,  virtually  resides  in  the  As- 
sembly :  these  are  said  to  be  only  provisional  measures,  which 
I  believe  really  to  be  the  case,  though  I  arn  of  opinion  that  its 
sway  will  terminate  in  a  very  different  manner  from  what  is 
generally  supposed.  A  convention  is  to  be  convoked  on  the 
20th  of  September." 

After  the  occurrence  of  this  event,  my  mind  "became 
wholly  occupied  with  the  idea  of  rescuing  my  fair  friend 
from  the  imminent  dangers  that  threatened  us  on  every 
side.  I  lost  not  a  moment  in  taking  the  proper  meas- 
ures to  secure  our  flight,  and  on  the  12th  every  prepara- 
tion had  been  made  for  our  departure.  One  difficulty, 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  317 

however,  still  remained  to  be  overcome,  that  of  obtain- 
ing our  passports.  During  two  or  three  days  I  exerted 
every  effort,  and  at  length,  on  the  15th,  we  obtained 
them  as  foreigners,  I  from  the  Venetian  envoy,  and  my 
friend  from  the  Danish  ambassador,  the  only  ministers 
who  had  not  yet  quitted  the  court  of  Louis  XVI.,  now 
stripped  of  almost  every  vestige  of  royalty.  But  we  still 
found  it  more  difficult  to  procure  passports  from  our 
section  of  Mont  Blanc.  It  was  necessary,  however, 
that  individuals  of  every  rank,  whether  in  the  situation 
of  masters  or  servants,  should  possess  one,  accurately 
describing  their  age,  stature,  sex,  the  color  of  their  hair, 
eyes,  etc.  Furnished  with  these  badges  of  slavery,  we 
fixed  on  Monday,  the  20th  of  August,  for  our  depart- 
ure. A  dread,  however,  lest  some  obstacles  should 
occur  to  prevent  us  putting  our  design  into  execution, 
caused  us  to  set  off  on  the  18th,  two  days  sooner  than 
we  had  originally  intended.  We  had  scarcely  reached 
the  Barriere  Blanche,  that  lay  directly  in  our  road  to 
Calais,  to  which  place  we  intended  to  proceed,  in  order 
to  escape  as  quickly  as  possible  from  this  wretched 
country,  than  wre  discovered  three  or  four  national 
guards,  with  an  officer.  After  examining  our  pass- 
ports they  seemed  disposed  to  open  the  gates  of  our 
immense  prison,  when  about  thirty  individuals  of  the 
lowest  description  sallied  out  of  a  wretched  inn  near 
the  barrier.  They  were  half  naked,  furious,  and  in  a 
state  of  intoxication.  As  soon  as  they  beheld  our  two 
carriages,  loaded  with  portmanteaus  and  baggage  of 
every  kind,  with  two  female  attendants,  besides  three 
male  domestics,  they  began  to  vociferate  that  if  all 
the  rich  were  thus  allowed  to  leave  Paris  and  carry 
oft'  their  wealth,  they  would  be  reduced  to  utter  beg- 
gary and  wretchedness.  On  this,  an  altercation  took 


318  MEMOIRS   OF 

place  between  the  national  guards  and  these  miserable 
wretches.  While  the  former  attempted  to  open  for  us 
a  passage,  the  latter  endeavored  forcibly  to  detain  us. 
Upon  this,  I  immediately  sprang  out  of  iny  carriage 
into  the  midst  of  this  rabble,  and,  fortified  by  my 
seven  passports,  began  to  altercate,  vociferate,  and  make 
a  noise  like  themselves,  knowing  by  experience  that 
this  was  the  only  means  to  succeed  with  Frenchmen. 
They  were  perused  one  after  another  by  those  among 
them  who  could  read.  Furious,  and  foaming  with  rage, 
I  heeded  not  the  danger  which  menaced  us  at  this  in- 
stant. I  tore  my  passport  three  times  from  their 
hands,  exclaiming  aloud,  u  Observe  !  listen  !  my  name 
is  Alfieri :  I  am  an  Italian  by  birth,  and  not  a  French- 
man. View  me  attentively,  and  consider  whether  I 
am  not  the  identical  individual  whom  the  passports 
describe  as  tall,  meagre,  pale,  and  red-haired.  My 
passport  is  genuine  :  I  have  obtained  it  from  those 
who  have  power  to  grant  it.  I  wish  to  pass,  and  by 
heavens  I  will  pass."  During  the  continuance  of  this 
tumult,  which  lasted  for  about  half  an  hour,  I  kept  a 
good  countenance,  to  which  circumstance,  I  am  in- 
clined to  think,  we  in  a  great  measure  owed  our  safety. 
In  the  mean  time  a  mob  had  collected  around  us,  while 
some  of  the  rabble  vociferated,  "  Let  us  set  fire  to  their 
carriages";  others  cried  out,  "Let  us  stone  them"; 
but  the  majority  insisted  that  as  we  were  rich,  noble, 
and  meant  to  emigrate,  we  should  instantly  be  con- 
ducted to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  in  order  to  be  tried.  In 
short,  the  occasional  interposition  of  the  four  national 
guards  in  our  favor,  the  incessant  noise  I  made  with 
my  stentorian  voice,  the  open  display  of  our  passports, 
and,  above  all,  the  continuance  of  the  altercation  for 
at  least  half  an  hour,  at  length  so  exhausted  these 


VITTORIO   ALFIERL  319 

tiger-monkeys  that  their  opposition  to  our  departure 
began  to  abate.  At  this  moment,  on  a  signal  being 
given  by  the  guards,  I  sprang  into  the  carriage,  where 
I  had  left  my  fair  friend,  whose  situation  may  readily 
be  conceived :  the  postilions  mounted  their  horses, 
and  on  the  barrier  being  thrown  open,  drove  off  at  full 
gallop,  amidst  the  groans,  hisses,  insults,  and  curses 
of  this  infuriated  rabble.  It  was  extremely  fortunate 
that  the  advice  of  those  who  wished  to  carry  us  back 
to  the  Hotel  de  Ville  did  not  prevail ;  for  as  our  car- 
riages were  loaded  with  baggage,  and  as  we  travelled 
with  a  considerable  retinue,  we  certainly  ran  the  great- 
est risk  of  being  taken  for  emigrants.  Had  we  been 
once  carried  before  the  municipality,  instead  of  being 
allowed  to  depart,  we  should  most  probably  have  been 
sent  to  prison,  and  closed  our  existence,  like  many 
others  who  were  massacred,  on  the  2d  of  September, 
fifteen  days  after  this  occurrence. 

Having  effected  our  escape  from  this  earthly  hell, 
we  travelled  with  all  possible  speed,  and  reached  Calais 
in  two  days  and  a  half,  during  which  we  were  forced 
to  produce  our  passports  not  less  than  forty  times.  I 
afterwards  discovered  that  we  were  the  only  foreigners 
who  had  effected  their  escape  out  of  the  kingdom  after 
the  catastrophe  of  the  10th  of  August.  In  every  mu- 
nicipality where  it  was  necessary  to  present  our  pass- 
ports, all  those  who  cast  their  eyes  over  them  evinced 
terror  and  dismay.  They  bore  the  name  of  the  king, 
which  had  been  afterwards  erased.  They  were  igno- 
rant of  the  events  which  had  taken  place,  and  felt 
appalled. 

Such  were  the  auspices  under  which  we  escaped 
out  of  France,  firmly  resolved  nevermore  to  enter  it. 
After  arriving  at  Calais,  we  experienced  no  further 


320  MEMOIRS   OF 

obstruction  in  pursuing  our  journey  by  Gravclines  to 
the  frontiers  of  Flanders.  We  had  taken  the  road  to 
Calais,  for  as  peace  still  continued  with  England,  it 
was  less  difficult  to  proceed  in  this  direction  than  through 
Flanders,  where  war  had  already  commenced.  As  soon 
as  we  reached  Brussels,  my  fair  friend  determined,  in 
order  that  she  might  recruit  her  exhausted  spirits,  to 
remain  a  month  in  the  country  with  her  sister  and 
worthy  brother-in-law.  While  there,  we  received  let- 
ters from  the  domestics  whom  we  had  left  behind  at 
Paris.  They  informed  us  that  on  Monday,  the  20th 
of  August,  the  day  fixed  on  for  our  departure,  which 
fortunately  I  had  anticipated,  the  section,  from  which 
we  had  obtained  our  passports,  had  sent  to  arrest  my 
amiable  friend  and  carry  her  to  prison.  It  is  scarcely 
possible  to  conceive  an  instance  of  more  gross  stupidity 
and  folly  ;  but  her  crimes  were  well  known  :  she  was 
rich,  noble,  and  of  an  irreproachable  character.  As 
for  me,  who  have  uniformly  considered  myself  of  in- 
ferior estimation,  I  was  not  deemed  worthy  of  such  an 
honor.  Finding  they  could  not  discover  us,  they  im- 
mediately confiscated  our  horses,  furniture,  books,  and 
all  that  we  possessed,  and  sequestrated  our  revenues, 
declaring  us  emigrants.  We  afterwards  learned  the 
dreadful  catastrophe  and  horrors  of  the  2d  of  Septem- 
ber, and  returned  thanks  to  Heaven  for  having  rescued 
us  from  them. 

When  we  understood  that  the  political  horizon  in 
France  became  every  day  more  dark  and  gloomy,  that 
the  soi-disant  republic  was  solely  maintained  through 
the  influence  of  terror  and  the  shedding  of  blood,  we 
were  thankful  that  the  whole  of  our  property  had  not 
been  involved  in  the  general  wreck. 

On  the  1st  of  October  we  set  out  for  Italy,  and  in 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  321 

our  progress  passed  through  Aix-la-Chapelle,  Frank- 
fort, Augsburg,  and  Innspruck.  We  crossed  the  Alps 
in  high  spirits,  animated  with  the  idea  of  once  more- 
finding  ourselves  in  our  own  happy  country.  The 
pleasure  of  having  escaped  from  a  horde  of  barba- 
rians, of  treading  in  company  with  my  amiable  friend 
the  same  road  which  I  had  so  frequently  travelled  to 
see  her,  the  gratification  of  enjoying  her  society  with- 
out restraint,  and  the  contemplation  of  resuming  my 
cherished  studies,  so  tranquillized  my  spirits  that,  feel- 
ing myself  again  inspired  with  poetic  fervor,  I  com- 
posed a  great  number  of  verses.  At  length,  on  the 
3d  of  November,  we  arrived  at  Florence,  where  we  de- 
termined to  take  up  our  residence.  There  the  charms 
of  the  country  and  of  the  language  compensated  me  for 
all  the  losses  I  had  sustained  in  France. 


XXIII. 

WE  spent  nearly  a  whole  year  at  Florence,  before 
we  could  find  a  house  perfectly  suited  to  our  taste.  In 
the  mean  time  the  exquisite  pleasure  I  derived  from 
hearing  my  vernacular  tongue  daily  spoken,  from 
meeting  with  individuals  who  sometimes  entered  into 
conversation  respecting  my  tragedies,  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  them  frequently,  though  badly  represented, 
all  conspired  to  revive  in  me  that  love  of  literature 
which  had  almost  become  extinct. 

My  first  production,  after  three  years  of  inaction, 
was  an  Apology  for  Louis  XVL,  which  I  wrote  in  the 
month  of  December.  As  soon  as  this  was  completed, 
I  resumed  my  translations  of  Terence  and  the  JEneid ; 
and  during  the  subsequent  year,  1793,  concluded  the 


322  MEMOIRS   OF 

rough  copy  of  them.  I  next  began  to  recopy  my 
Sallust,  the  only  work  to  which  I  had  devoted  any 
.part  of  my  time  in  my  journeys  to  England,  during 
which,  moreover,  I  read  oftener  than  once  the  whole 
works  of  Cicero.  I  not  only  corrected  this  translation, 
but  gave  to  it,  as  I  conceived,  a  higher  polish.  I  com- 
posed also  a  short  historical  and  satirical  view  of  the 
French  Revolution,  which  I  prefixed  by  way  of  intro- 
duction to  a  collection  of  sonnets,  epigrams,  and  other 
poetical  pieces,  written  on  these  mournful  as  well  as 
ridiculous  events.  This  work  I  entitled  the  Anti-Gal- 
lican. 

Though  both  my  amiable  friend  and  I  had  lost  a 
great  part  of  our  property,  we  still  had  sufficient  left" 
to  live  comfortably.  My  attachment  for  her  augmented 
with  our  misfortunes,  and  in  proportion  as  she  was  per- 
secuted by  fortune,  the  more  dear  did  she  become  to 
me.  Thus  my  melancholy  was  dissipated,  my  spirits 
became  tranquillized,  and  the  love  of  letters  again 
took  possession  of  my  mind.  I  devoted  myself  again 
to  study,  but  soon  found  that  I  was  in  want  of  books. 
I  only  possessed  a  hundred  and  fifty  volumes  of  the 
small  editions  of  the  classics :  the  others  had  been  lost, 
and  I  never  made  any  serious  effort  to  recover  them,  ex- 
cept once  through  the  medium  of  a  friend,  the  Italian 
envoy  at  Paris.  This  request  was  expressed  in  an  epi- 
gram, which  I  transmitted  to  him  in  1795.  Both  this 
epigram  and  the  answer  may  be  found  in  a  long  note 
subjoined  to  the  second  prose  piece  in  the  Anti-Gal- 
lican.  After  finishing  Abel,  I  had  conceived  the  plan 
of  five  other  melodramas,  but  soon  found  it  necessary 
to  abandon  them.  My  past  and  present  disappoint- 
ments, the  dissipation  of  the  best  part  of  my  youth  in 
superintending  for  five  years  the  impression  of  my  vari- 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  323 

ous  works,  together  with  the  misfortunes  to  which  I  had 
been  subjected  during  that  period,  all  tended  to  extinguish 
in  my  mind  that  vigor  and  energy  so  necessary  to  insure 
success  in  productions  of  this  kind.  As  soon  as  I  per- 
ceived that  it  behooved  me  to  abandon  this  long-cher- 
ished idea,  I  directed  my  attention  to  the  composition 
of  satires,  of  which  I  had  already  written  one  that 
might  serve  as  an  introduction  to  others.  Having, 
moreover,  acquired  some  experience  in  this  species  of 
composition,  while  employed  in  finishing  the  different 
pieces  contained  in  the  Anti-Gallican,  I  flattered  my- 
self that  success  was  not  beyond  my  reach.  Thus 
stimulated  by  hope,  I  completed  the  second,  and  part 
of  the  third.  As  my  spirits  were,  however,  far  from 
being  tranquil,  and  as  besides  I  was  very  uncomfort- 
ably situated,  and  in  want  of  books,  resolution  to 
prosecute  the  undertaking  soon  abandoned  me. 

From  the  combined  influence  of  these  and  other 
causes,  I  became  seized  with  the  whim  of  playing 
a  part  in  one  of  my  own  tragedies.  Among  my  juve- 
nile acquaintances  at  Florence,  I  had  discovered  a  few, 
besides  a  lady,  who  appeared  not  only  to  possess  taste, 
but  even  some  talents  for  this  art.  After  rehearsing 
Saul,  we  acted  it  during  the  spring  of  1793,  in  a  pri- 
vate house,  before  a  select  audience,  and  with  much 
success.  Towards  the  end  of  this  year  we  found  out 
near  the  end  of  the  bridge  of  Santa  Trinita  a  house, 
which,  though  small,  was  admirably  adapted  for  our 
accommodation,  situated  on  the  Arno,  and  facing  the 
south.  We  took  possession  of  it  in  November,  since 
which  I  have  uniformly  occupied  it.  I  shall  here  prob- 
ably close  my  earthly  career,  should  fate  cease  to  per- 
secute me.  The  salubrity  of  the  air,  and  the  charming 
prospect  I  enjoy,  besides  other  conveniences  attached 


324  MEMOIRS    OF 

to  this  house,  have  in  a  great  measure  restored  my  in- 
tellectual faculties,  and  powers  of  conception,  except- 
ing for  melo-tragedies,  in  which  I  find  it  still  impossi- 
ble to  succeed.  By  devoting  so  much  of  my  time  to 
the  pleasure  of  acting  a  part  in  my  own  tragedies,  I 
spent  nearly  three  months  in  the  spring  of  1794.  Saul 
was  first  represented  at  my  house,  and  afterwards 
Brutus  the  Elder,  in  each  of  which  I  acted  the  princi- 
pal character.  It  was  affirmed  by  those  who  were 
competent  judges,  and  I  had  some  reason  to  believe 
their  opinion  correct,  that  I  had  made  considerable  prog- 
ress in  this  difficult  art.  Had  I  been  younger,  and 
less  harassed  with  care,  I  have  reason  to  think  I  should 
have  succeeded  completely.  Every  time  I  performed 
my  powers  augmented;  I  conceived  my  part  better, 
acquired  a  greater  command  of  voice,  and  a  more  per- 
fect cadence;  besides  which,  I  became  progressively 
more  capable  of  assuming  those  attitudes  necessary  to 
impart  animation  to  the  expressions,  and  to  give  effect 
to  the  character.  The  company  also  became  more  per- 
fect in  performing  their  respective  parts  under  my 
guidance.  I  then  clearly  perceived,  that  had  I  pos- 
sessed riches,  opportunity,  and  health,  I  might,  in  the 
course  of  two  or  three  years,  have  succeeded  in  form- 
ing a  company  of  tragic  actors,  if  not  excellent,  at 
least  superior  to  those  who  then  arrogated  to  them- 
selves that  character  in  Italy. 

My  entering  so  much  into  this  amusement  contrib- 
uted not  only  to  retard  my  literary  pursuits  this  year, 
but  also  during  the  following,  1795,  in  which  I  ap- 
peared in  the  capacity  of  a  player  for  the  last  time.  I 
successively  performed  the  parts  of  Carlos  and  of  Filippo, 
in  the  two  tragedies  so  named,  and  on  another  occasion 
that  of  Saul,  which  was  my  favorite  character.  This 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  325 

last  piece  was  also  acted  l>y  a  private  company  at 
Pisa,  during  the  Festival  of  the  Illumination,  to  which 
I  was  invited.  I  had  the  childish  vanity  to  accept  of 
this  invitation,  and  to  appear  ourr  more  in  the  charac- 
ter of  Saul,  afcer  which  I  took  a  final  leave  of  the 
stage. 

During  the  two  years  I  resided  in  Tuscany  I  pur- 
chased various  hooks,  and  among  others  the  Italian 
authors  I  had  formerly  possessed.  To  these  I  added 
not  only  the  Latin  classics,  but  also  the  best  Grseco- 
Latin  editions  of  all  the  Greek  classics,  as  much  from  a 
desire  of  having  them  in  my  possession,  as  of,  at  least, 
rendering  myself  acquainted  with  their  names. 

XXIV. 

BETTER  late  than  never. 

When  I  reflected  at  forty-six  years  of  age,  after  hav- 
ing cultivated  for  nearly  half  that  period,  whether  suc- 
cessfully or  not,  an  acquaintance  with  dramatic  and 
lyric  poetry,  that  I  had  neither  read  the  Greek  trage- 
dies, nor  Homer,  nor  Pindar,  I  felt  truly  ashamed,  and 
was  stimulated  by  a  laudable  desire  to  learn  something 
from  these  fathers  of  the  art.  I  the  more  readily  yielded 
to  this  impulse,  as  for  several  years,  my  peregrinations, 
my  horses,  my  disappointments,  and  an  unremitted  at- 
tention to  the  correction  of  my  works,  had  so  deadened 
my  mind,  that  I  could  not  aspire  to  be  a  man  of  erudi- 
tion, —  a  character,  to  obtain  which  nothing  is  more 
necessary  than  a  retentive  memory  and  much  reading. 
Unfortunately,  my  memory,  which  had  been  good,  was 
greatly  impaired.  In  order,  however,  to  escape  from  a 
life  of  indolence,  and  to  conquer  my  predilection  for  the 
life  of  a  buffoon,  as  well  as  to  acquire  information,  I 


326  MEMOIRS   OF 

was  induced  to  enter  on  this  undertaking.  With  this 
view  I  read  successively  Homer,  Hesiod,  Aristophanes, 
Anacreon,  and  the  Greek  tragedies,  all  of  which  I 
studied  attentively  in  the  Latin  translations.  As  for 
Pindar,  I  soon  found  it  was  lahor  lost.  His  lyric 
flights,  literally  translated,  appeared  in  my  eyes  truly 
pitiful ;  and,  not  finding  myself  competent  to  understand 
them  in  the  original,  1  threw  them  aside.  I  spent 
nearly  one  year  and  a  half  in  this  species  of  study, 
which  proved  equally  repugnant  to  my  disposition  as 
unproductive  of  benefit.  I  wrote,  however,  in  the  in- 
terval, some  poetical  scraps;  and  during  1796  extended 
my  satires  to  seven.  This  year  proved  extremely  disas- 
trous to  Italy,  by  the  invasions  of  the  French,  an  event 
which  completely  overpowered  my  spirits.  I  contem- 
plated in  imagination  misery  and  slavery  hovering  over 
my  head.  The  melancholy  posture  of  affairs  in  Pied- 
mont made  me  tremble,  lest  I  should  be  deprived  of 
the  last  means  of  subsistence.  Determined  never  to 
flatter,  nor  become  a  slave,  I  prepared  my  mind  to  sup- 
port every  other  reverse  of  fortune  with  the  fortitude  of 
a  philosopher.  I  plunged  deeper  than  ever  into  study, 
which  I  considered  as  the  only  means  calculated  to 
abstract  my  mind  from  the  evils  which  surrounded  me 
on  every  side. 

XXV. 

IN  1778,  while  my  highly  valued  friend  Caluso  was 
at  Florence,  I  entreated  him,  as  much  through  a  love 
of  indolence,  as  from  curiosity,  that  he  would  write  on 
a  loose  sheet  of  paper  the  Greek  alphabet,  both  in 
great  and  small  characters ;  and  in  this  way  I  learned, 
though  imperfectly,  to  know  the  letters,  and  even  to 
name  them. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERL  327 

This  circumstance  had  escaped  my  memory,  till  I 
began  to  peruse  the  Latin  translations,  when,  discover- 
ing this  alphabet  among  my  papers,  I  endeavored  to 
recognize?  and  pronounce  the  letters.  My  intention  was 
merely  to  acquire  the  sound  of  the  compound  or  ex- 
traordinary terms  which  in  the  translation  resembled 
not  those  in  the  text,  and  which  on  that  account  in- 
duced me  to  cast  my  eyes  on  it.  In  this  way  I  was 
led  to  view  the  characters  occasionally,  as  the  fox  in 
the  fable  is  said  to  have  viewed  the  grapes  which  were 
beyond  his  reach.  What  also  greatly  contributed  to 
retard  my  progress  in  this  study  was,  that  I  could  not 
look  for  any  length  of  time  on  either  the  great  or  small 
characters,  without  my  sight  being  dazzled  by  it.  I 
could  never  make  out  more  than  one  word  at  a  time, 
and  even  that,  however  short,  I  was  obliged  to  spell, 
but  could  neither  read  nor  pronounce,  much  less  retain 
in  my  mind  the  sound  of  a  single  verse. 

My  aversion  to  grammar,  my  repugnance  and  inca- 
pacity for  servile  application  of  any  kiud,  my  inaptitude 
to  acquire  languages,*  my  age,  my  ignorance  of  all 
grammatical  rules,  even  in  Italian,  of  which  I  knew 
only  sufficient  to  avoid  gross  blunders,  without,  how- 
ever, understanding  its  principles,  —  such  were  the 
physical  and  moral  obstacles  which  1  had  to  encounter, 
and  which  I  essayed  to  overcome  by  my  own  powers. 
I  did  not  communicate  my  intention  to  any  one,  not 
even  to  my  fair  friend,  and  that  is  saying  everything. 
After  having  spent  two  years,  as  it  were,  on  the  con- 
fines of  Greece,  without  being  able  to  penetrate  further 
than  with  my  eyes,  I  became  at  length  determined  to 
surmount  every  difficulty  by  my  own  exertions. 

*  I  had  twice  attempted,  though  without  success,  to  acquire  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  English. 


328  MEMOIRS   OF 

I  purchased  a  great  number  of  Greece-Latin,  and 
afterwards  Greek  grain  mars.  I  incessantly  repeated 
the  verb  TUTTTO),  the  circumflex  verbs,  and  the  verbs  in 
fu.  Observing  mo  always  muttering  something  be- 
tween my  teeth,  this  inestimable  friend  was  anxious  to 
know  what  I  was  about,  and  by  her  frequent  inquiries 
at  length  drew  from  me  the  secret.  Persevering  with 
indefatigable  patience,  I  succeeded  towards  the  end  of 
1797  in  rendering  myself  capable  of  reading  a  page  of 
Greek  either  in  prose  or  verse,  whether  in  large  or 
small  characters,  without  my  eyes  suffering  by  it.  I 
at  last  even  comprehended  the  text,  by  comparing  it 
with  the  Latin  column  on  the  opposite  side ;  that  is  to 
say,  wlien  I  had  either  forgotten,  or  was  unacquainted 
with  any  of  the  Greek  words,  I  hastily  glanced  my  eye 
over  the  corresponding  Latin.  After  much  difficulty,  I 
acquired  the  capability  of  reading  with  facility,  and  of 
accentuating  the  vowels,  and  even  the  diphthongs,  as 
they  are  written,  and  not  as  they  are  absurdly  pro- 
nounced by  the  modern  Greeks.  These  degenerate 
descendants  of  a  learned  nation  have  insensibly  intro- 
duced an  alphabet  with  five  io>ra ;  so  that  the  most 
harmonious  language  in  the  world  becomes  in  their 
mouths  a  continual  iotacism,  like  the  neighing  of  a 
horse.  I  surmounted  this  difficulty  by  reciting  in  an 
audible  voice  not  only  the  lessons  which  I  daily  studied, 
but  even,  for  several  hours,  select  portions  from  He- 
rodotus, Thucydides,  Xenophon,  and  the  other  orators 
of  the  second  rank,  all  of  whom  I  read  twice  through. 
I  also  read  twice  Procles,  in  the  Timaeus  of  Plato.  I 
was  impelled  to  peruse  this  last  work  for  no  other 
reason  than  because  it  was  printed  in  characters  diffi- 
cult to  be  deciphered,  and  full  of  contractions. 

This   labor,  instead   of  depressing   my   mind,  as  I 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  329 

feared,  contributed  to  rouse  me  from  the  lethargy  into 
which  I  had  fallen.  In  the  course  of  this  year,  1797, 
I  augmented  the  number  of  my  satires  to  seventeen: 
I  also  revised  and  corrected  many  of  my  poetical  pieces. 
Becoming  more  enthusiastically  attached  to  the  Greek, 
as  I  more  fully  comprehended  it,  I  translated  the  Al- 
cestis  of  Euripides,  the  Philoctetes  of  Sophocles,  and 
the  Persians  of  Eschylus;  and,  in  short,  in  order  to 
try  my  powers,  the  Frogs  of  Aristophanes.  While 
engaged  in  these  occupations,  I  did  not  neglect  the 
cultivation  of  the  Latin  tongue.  I  studied  Lucretius, 
Plautus,  and  Terence,  whose^ix  comedies,  by  a  strange 
combination  of  circumstances,  I  had  translated  piece- 
meal, without  having  read  any  of  them  to  an  end. 
Should  my  version  of  these  comedies  be  considered 
above  mediocrity,  I  may  jocularly,  and  with  truth, 
affirm  that  I  executed  my  translation  before  reading 
the  original. 

I  wished  also  to  render  myself  acquainted  with  the 
different  kinds  of  verse  employed  by  Horace.  I  blushed 
at  my  ignorance  of  his  writings,  and  at  not  having 
read  and  committed  them  to  memory.  I  wished  like- 
wise to  become  acquainted  with  those  which  the  Greeks 
employed  in  their  choruses,  and  especially  with  those 
of  Pindar  and  Anacreon.  In  short,  throughout  this 
year,  I  endeavored  to  accumulate  as  much  information 
as  possible.  The  only  motive  for  engaging  in  these 
studies  was  to  gratify  my  curiosity,  and  to  abstract  my 
mind  from  the  anxiety  and  sorrow  with  which  it  was 
overwhelmed  on  account  of  the  invasion  of  Italy  by  the 
French. 


330  MEMOIRS   OF 


XXVI. 

I  NEITHER  expected  nor  wished  to  derive  any  other 
advantage  from  my  studies  than  that  already  mentioned  ; 
but  Apollo  had  still  one  in  reserve,  which  I  could  not 
view  with  indifference.  While  I  studied  the  literal 
translations  in  1796,  after  reading  Homer,  Eschylus, 
Sophocles,  and  five  tragedies  of  Euripides,  I  accidentally 
fell  upon  the  Alcestis  of  this  last  author,  a  piece  I  had 
never  heard  mentioned.  I  was  so  much  struck  and 
affected  by  the  sublimity  f>f  the  subject,  that,  on  finish- 
ing the  perusal,  I  immediately  scribbled  down  on  a 
scrap  of  paper,  which  I  still  carefully  preserve,  the 
following  note  :  il  Florence,  18th  of  January,  1796. 
Had  I  not  mentally  vowed  to  write  no  more  tragedies, 
the  reading  of  the  Alcestis  of  Euripides  would  have 
determined  me  to  change  this  resolution,  and  to  com- 
pose an  Alcestis.  I  should  have  availed  myself  of  all 
the  excellences  in  the  Greek  original,  while  I  lopped 
off  the  absurdities  with  which  it  abounds.  Thus  I 
would  have  had  fewer  dramatis  personse  than  are  found 
in  the  original."  I  even  superadded  to  this  note  the 
names  of  those  whom  I  would  have  introduced,  and 
afterwards  thought  no  more  of  it.  None  of  the  other 
tragedies  of  this  author  ever  affected  me  in  a  similar 
manner.  Whi'e  reperusing  this  poet  some  time  after- 
wards, for  it  was  my  constant  custom  to  read  every 
work  at  least  twice  over,  I  felt,  when  I  came  to  Alces- 
tis, the  same  transports  as  before,  and  in  the  month  of 
September,  1796,  I  sketched  the  scenes  of  this  piece 
without  any  intention  of  finishing  it.  I  had  also  trans- 
lated from  the  Latin,  in  1797,  while  unacquainted  with 
the  Greek,  the  first  Alcestis ;  in  short,  this  second  Al- 


VITTORIO    ALFIERI.  331 

cost  is,  which  had  so  often  fallen  in  my  way,  heated  my 
imagination  to  such  a  degree  that  in  March,  1798,  I 
could  no  longer  set  reins  to  it.  I  immediately  there- 
fore on  returning  home,  after  my  usual  morning  excur- 
sion, sat  down  and  composed,  without  a  pause,  the 
whole  of  the  first  act,  inscribing  on  the  margin,  "  Writ- 
ten under  a  paroxysm  of  enthusiasm,  and  while  shedding 
a  flood  of  tears." 

During  the  following  days  I  composed,  under  the 
influence  of  the  same  impassioned  feelings,  not  only 
the  four  other  acts,  but  even  sketched  the  choruses,  and 
wrote  a  preface  in  prose.  ^The  whole  was  finished  by 
the  26th  of  May,  when  I  felt  myself  relieved  from  an 
intolerable  burden.  I  had,  however,  neither  any  in- 
tention of  versifying  nor  of  completing  it. 

In  September,  1798,  while  persisting  in  the  study  of 
the  Greek,  I  resolved  to  compare  my  translation  of  the 
Latin  of  the  first  Alcestis  with  the  original,  as  much 
with  a  view  of  rectifying  it  as  of  improving  myself  in 
the  language.  Nothing  tends  so  much  to  this  purpose 
as  translations,  when  we  endeavor  to  comprehend  not 
only  the  terms,  but  also  the  images  and  metaphors 
contained  in  the  original.  Having  thrown  aside  the 
first  Alcestis,  I  felt  myself  inspired  for  the  fourth  time 
with  an  enthusiastic  fervor  to  complete  my  own.  I 
again  took  it  up,  and  while  reading  it  shed  a  torrent  of 
tears.  I  began  to  versify  it  on  the  30th  of  September, 
1798,  and  completed  it  with  the  choruses  on  the  21st 
of  October,  the  same  year.  Thus  I  infringed  iny 
solemn  vow,  after  preserving  an  uninterrupted  silence 
for  ten  years.  As,  however,  I  neither  wished  to  expose 
myself  to  the  charge  of  plagiarism,  nor  of  the  sin  of 
ingratitude,  and  as  I  conceived  this  tragedy  belonged 
by  right  to  Euripides,  I  placed  it  among  my  transla- 


332  MEMOIRS   OF 

tions,  where  it  remains  under  the  title  of  Alcestis  II., 
by  the  side  of  Alcestis  I.,  which  led  me  to  conceive  and 
execute  the  former.  I  mentioned  not  the  infraction  of 
my  vow  to  any  one,  not  even  to  my  better  half,  hoping 
to  derive  some  amusement  from  this  silence.  In  the 
month  of  December  I  read  this  production,  as  a  trans- 
lation from  Euripides,  to  a  party  of  friends,  whom  I 
had  purposely  invited  to  my  house.  Those  who  did 
not  thoroughly  remember  the  original  fell  into  the 
snare  ;  but  an  individual,  happening  to  be  present  who 
perfectly  recollected  it,  discovered  the  joke  towards  the 
end  of  the  third  act ;  and  the  reading,  which  began  in 
the  name  of  Euripides,  concluded  in  mine.  This  drama 
was  well  received,  and  even  I  myself,  though  I  saw  in 
it  much  to  correcf  and  retrench,  was  on  the  whole  not 
displeased  with  it.  I  have  related  this  fact  at  full 
length,  because  if  Alcestis  should  ever  be  considered  as 
a  tragedy  of  any  merit,  it  may  serve  to  show  the  effects 
produced  by  enthusiasm  on  the  imagination  of  a  poet. 
Thus  we  see  verified  what  often  happens,  that  the  most 
labored  productions  of  a  poet  are  generally  inferior  to 
those  which  are  written  from  the  mere  impulse  of  the 
moment ;  hence  the  inspiration  of  the  Muses  ought 
never  to  be  disregarded.  If,  after  all,  my  Alcestis  be 
regarded  as  a  contemptible  performance,  the  reader  may 
justly  smile  both  at  it  and  my  details,  and  regard  them 
as  the  precursors  of  the  fifth  epoch,  old  age. 

As  soon  as  these  two  productions  became  known  at 
Florence,  my  having  studied  the  Greek  no  longer  re- 
mained a  secret.  I  carefully  concealed  it  from  every 
one,  even  from  my  friend  Caluso,  who  discovered  it  in 
the  following  manner.  I  had  transmitted  to  my  sister, 
in  May,  this  year,  my  portrait,  excellently  painted  by 
Xavier  Fabre  of  Montpellier.  On  the  back  of  this 


VITTOEIO   ALFIERI.  333 

picture  were  two  short  verses  from  Pindar.  My  sister 
was  delighted  with  my  present,  and,  having  turned  it 
on  every  side,  beheld  the  little  scrawl  above  mentioned. 
She  immediately  sent  for  my  friend  Caluso,  with  whom 
she  was  intimate,  in  order  to  explain  it.  By  this  the 
Abbe  saw  that  I  had  at  least  learned  to  form  the  char- 
acters, and  felt  fully  assured  that  I  would  never  have 
been  guilty  of  such  a  ridiculous  piece  of  pedantry  as  to 
write  an  epigraph  which  I  did  not  comprehend.  He 
directly  wrote  me  a  letter  filled  with  reproaches  for 
my  dissimulation  in  concealing  from  him  my  study  of 
the  Greek  tongue;  to  this  I  returned  a  short  answer 
in  that  language,  arranged  as  well  as  I  was  able, 
and  better  perhaps  than  might  be  expected  from  a 
scholar  at  fifty  years  of  age.  I  transmitted  with  my 
epistle  several  specimens  of  my  translations,  in  order 
that  he  might  form  a  judgment  of  the  progress  I  had 
made. 

His  praises  on  this  occasion  stimulated  me  to  pros- 
ecute my  studies  with  greater  ardor.  I  resumed  the 
same  salutary  exercise  from  which  I  had  derived  so 
much  benefit  in  regard  to  the  Latin  and  Italian,  namely 
that  of  committing  to  memory  many  thousand  verses 
from  different  authors. 


XXVII. 

The  dangers  wTith  which  Tuscany  was  threatened 
augmented  every  day.  Already  had  the  French,  in 
November,  1798,  taken  possession  of  Lucca,  and  there 
was  every  reason  to  fear  that  on  the  commencement 
of  the  following  year  they  would  advance  to  Florence. 
On  this  account,  therefore,  I  was  solicitous  to  settle 
my  affairs,  and  prepare  myself  for  whatever  might  hap- 


334  MEMOIRS    OF 

pen.  Since  the  preceding  year  I  had  thrown  aside  the 
Anti-Galilean.  With  a  view  to  save  this  production, 
in  the  fate  of  which  my  mind  felt  considerable  interest, 
I  caused  ten  copies  of  it  to  be  transcribed,  and  depos- 
ited in  different  places,  till  circumstances  should  permit 
me  to  draw  them  forth.  Having  never  dissembled  my 
hatred  against  these  founders  of  republics,  I  expected 
from  them  every  species  of  outrage,  and  armed  myself 
with  fortitude  to  support  it.  While  unmolested,  I  de- 
termined to  remain  silent,  but  if  insulted  and  persecuted 
I  resolved  to  conduct  myself  as  a  friend  of  rational 
liberty.  I  took  in  consequence  such  measures  as  that, 
if  I  could  not  live  free  and  respected,  I  might  at  least 
not  die  unrevenged.  One  of  the  motives  which  induced 
me  to  become  my  own  biographer  was  a  dread  lest 
some  one  might  undertake  the  task  who  either  had  not 
sufficient  opportunity  to  ascertain  the  facts,  or  who 
might  pervert  and  distort  them.  A  similar  reason  im- 
pelled me  to  compose  my  own  epitaph,  as  well  as  that 
of  my  amiable  friend.  These  two  epitaphs  proclaim 
nothing  but  the  simple  truth,  devoid  of  all  unmeaning 
amplification.  Having  thus,  as  far  as  possible,  insured 
my  own  fame,  and  secured  my  memory  against  re- 
proach, I  immediately  returned  to  my  usual  pursuits. 
I  corrected  and  copied ;  I  separated  what  was  finished 
from  that  which  remained  imperfect,  and  abandoned 
everything  which  was  neither  suitable  to  my  years 
nor  consonant  to  the  resolutions  I  had  taken.  Tn  short, 
on  attaining  my  fiftieth  year,  I  resolved  to  take  my 
final  leave  of  the  Muses.  I  collected  into  one  volume 
seventy  sonnets,  thirty-nine  epigrams,  etc.,  which  may 
be  regarded  as  a  continuation  of  those  formerly  printed 
at  Kehl.  I  next  composed  a  Pindaric  ode,  and  in  order 
to  give  it  a  somewhat  Grecian  appearance,  I  entitled  it 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  335 

ia,  after  which  I  hung  up  my  lyre.  If  I  have 
since  composed  a  few  sonnets  and  epigrams,  I  have  not 
preserved  them,  and  should  now  find  it  impossible  to 
recognize  them  as  my  own.  Aware  that  if  I  did  not 
voluntarily  relinquish  my  studies,  the,  time  must  at 
length  arrive  when  I  should  be  compelled  to  do  so,  I 
embraced  the  opportunity  which  my  age,  and  the  pe- 
culiar situation  of  my  affairs  afforded,  to  terminate  my 
literary  career. 

With  respect  to  my  translations,  I  preserved  that  of 
the  jEneid,  which,  though  transcribed  and  corrected, 
during  the  two  preceding  years,  was  still  far  from  being 
perfect.  While  I  suppressed  my  translation  of  Ter- 
ence,  which  I  had  never  either  revised  or  corrected,  I 
preserved  my  version  of  Sallust,  which,  I  conceived, 
was  tolerably  executed.  Neither  did  I  commit  to  the 
flames  my  four  Greek  translations;  but  as  I  was  fully 
sensible  they  were  very  imperfect,  I  resolved,  if  time 
should  be  allowed  me,  to  revise  them  carefully.  I  be- 
gan by  retranslating  Alcestis  from  the  original,  in  order 
to  obviate  any  errors  or  mistakes  into  which  I  might 
have  fallen,  in  rendering  it  from  the  Latin.  I  caused 
Abel  to  be  transcribed,  but  without  any  alterations ;  as 
also  a  small  piece  in  prose  entitled  "Advice  to  the 
Italian  Powers,"  which  I  had  written  some  years 
before.  This  work  was  not  dictated  by  any  wish  or 
pride  to  appear  on  the  theatre  of  politics,  but  merely 
by  the  indignation  I  felt  at  the  narrow  and  unenlight- 
ened policy  of  the  Emperor,  and  at  the  still  more  ab- 
surd conduct  of  the  Italian  states.  Lastly,  I  finished 
my  seventeen  satires,  the  number  of  which  I  firmly 
resolved  not  to  augment. 

Having  thus  arranged  my  literary  productions,  I 
environed  myself  with  a  triple  shield,  and  calmly 


336  MEMOIRS   OF 

awaited  every  event  that  might  occur.     With  the  view 
of  habituating  myself  to  a  kind  of  life,  should  my  days 
be  prolonged,  more  conformable  to  my  years  and  future 
intentions,  I  adopted  the  following  system,  in  which  I 
shall  certainly  persevere,  while  health  continues.    Every 
Monday  and  Tuesday  I  devoted  to  the  perusal  of  the 
Bible,  the  study  of  which  I  blushed  to  have  delayed  to 
such  an  advanced  period  of  life.     The  Wednesday  and 
Thursday  I  dedicated  to  Homer,  whose  works  afford  an 
inexhaustible  source  of  information  to  any  one  who 
wishes  to  become  an  author ;  and  the  Friday,  Satur- 
day, and  Sunday,  to  the  study  of  Pindar,  the  most  dif- 
ficult to  comprehend  of  aH  the  Greek  and  Lyric  poets, 
not  even  excepting  either  Job  or  the  Prophets.     After 
the  first  year,  it  was  my  intention  to  appropriate  these 
three  last  days  to  the  study  of  the  Greek  authors, 
whether  in  prose  or  verse.     In  pursuing  this  study,  rny 
views   were   not    directed    to   acquire   a   fundamental 
knowledge  of  this  language,  which  I  regarded  as  un- 
attainable, but  merely  to  render  myself  equally  familiar 
with  it  as  with  the  Latin.     As  I  found  the  method 
which  I  pursued  to  attain  this  end  extremely  useful,  I 
shall  give  it  in  detail,  in  order  that  others  may  derive 
advantage  from   it.      After  perusing   the   Septuagint 
version  of  the  Bible,  according  to  the  text  of  the  Vati- 
can,  I  compared  it  with  the  Alexandrine  text,  and 
lastly  with  the  Italian  translation  of  Diodati,  which  I 
found  strictly  conformable  to  the  Hebrew.     I  also  read 
the    Latin   Vulgate,    and    afterwards   an   interlineary 
Latin  and  Hebrew  Bible.     By  dint  of  much  study,  for 
several  years,  I  had  rendered  myself  capable  of  under- 
standing and  reading  the  Hebrew  language ;  the  pro- 
nunciation of  which  is,  in  general,  extremely  disagree- 
able, as  well  as  the  phrases  and  modes  of  expression, 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  337 

which  exhibit  a  strange  mixture  of  the  sublime  and 
barbarous. 

I  read  Homer  in  the  original  Greek,  pronouncing 
every  word  in  an  audible  tone  of  voice,  and  rendered 
literally  into  Latin  those  verses  which  I  wished  to 
study  in  the  morning.  These  frequently  amounted  to 
sixty,  eighty,  or  even  a  hundred,  and  the  blunders  I 
committed  in  this  exercise  never  interrupted  my  prog- 
ress. Afcer  mangling  these  verses,  I  endeavored  to 
accent  them  properly.  I  next  read  the  Greek  Scholiast, 
with  the  Latin  notes  by  Barnes,  Clarke,  and  others. 
Then  again  taking  up  the  literal  Latin  translation,  I 
compared  it  with  the  original  Greek,  particularly  at- 
tending to  those  passages,  the  import  of  which  1  had 
mistaken  in  my  first  perusal,  and  inscribing  on  the 
margin  of  my  text  such  elucidations  as  had  not  been 
given  by  the  Scholiast.  I  wrote  them  in  Greek,  and 
to  assist  me  in  this,  I  had  recourse  to  Hesychius,  and 
various  other  authors.  I  noted  down  every  uncommon 
word,  expression,  and  phrase,  and  explained  them  like- 
wise in  Greek.  Lastly,  I  perused  the  commentary  of 
Eustathius,  on  these  same  verses,  which  had  already 
cost  me  such  immense  labor.  This  method  of  study 
was  doubtless  extremely  tedious  and  dull;  but  my 
comprehension  was  also  somewhat  dull,  and  therefore, 
more  laborious  study  became  necessary,  in  order  to 
impress  on  my  mind,  at  fifty,  what  it  might  have 
easily  acquired  at  twenty. 

During  the  preceding  year  I  had  performed  a  more 
laborious  task  than  the  present.  I  possess  a  small 
copy  of  Pindar,  which  contains  not  a  single  word  over 
which  I  have  not  placed  numerical  figures  from  one  to 
forty,  with  a  view  to  point  out  the  order  in  which  the 
words  should  stand  according  to  their  concordance  with 


338  MEMOIRS   OF 

each  other.  Not  satisfied  with  this,  I  took  another 
Pindar,  the  old  and  faulty  edition  of  Calliergi  of  Rome, 
which  I  treated  in  the  same  manner,  and  bestowed  on 
it  equal  care  as  I  had  on  Homer.  1  wrote  also  margi- 
nal notes  in  Greek,  in  which  I  endeavored  to  explain 
the  intentions  of  the  author,  and  to  display  his  concep- 
tions stripped  of  all  metaphor.  After  Pindar  I  went 
through  Sophocles  and  Eschylus  in  a  similar  manner. 
These  labors,  in  which  I  persisted  with  the  most  con- 
summate folly,  contributed  greatly  to  debilitate  my  me- 
morial powers,  and  I  am  compelled  to  acknowledge 
that  the  progress  I  made  was  not  correspondent  to  my 
efforts,  and  that  I  also  committed  innumerable  mistakes 
during  my  first  readings.  Nevertheless,  such  studies 
had  become  so  essential  to  my  happiness,  that  since 
1796  I  uniformly  continued  to  appropriate  three  hours 
every  morning  to  similar  pursuits.  My  Alcestis,  my 
safires,  and  various  poetical  pieces,  etc.  were  all  written 
during  the  subsequent  hours,  so  that  I  only  devoted 
the  remaining  part  of  the  day  to  my  own  gratification, 
and  when  forced  to  relinquish  my  works  or  my  studies, 
I  never  hesitated  to  abandon  the  former.  After  having 
thus  arranged  my  mode  of  life,  I  retained  only  such  of 
my  books  as  I  was  in  immediate  want  of,  packing  up 
all  the  rest.  I  sent  them  to  the  country,  in  order  to 
prevent  my  being  deprived  of  them  a  second  time  by 
an  invasion  of  the  French.  This  took  place  on  the 
25th  of  March,  1799,  on  which  day,  previous  to  their 
entering  Florence,  my  friend  and  1  left  the  city,  having 
first  taken  care  to  remove  all  our  property,  abandoning 
our  house  to  the  occupation  of  the  military. 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  339 


XXYIII. 

WHILE  my  friend  and  I  with  a  few  domestics  resided 
in  the  country,  our  time  was  wholly  devoted  to  letters. 
Besides  understanding  the  English  and  German  lan- 
guages, she  possessed  a  complete  knowledge  of  the 
Italian  and  French,  and  was  intimately  acquainted 
with  their  national  literature.  Neither  was  she  igno- 
rant of  everything  essential  relative  to  the  state  of 
lean  ling  among  the  ancients,  having  read  the  best 
translations  extant  in  these  four  languages.  Hence  I 
could  converse  with  her  on  every  topic,  and  never  felt 
myself  more  happy  than  when  living  with  her  alone, 
secluded  from  all  other  society.  Very  few  of  our  friends 
dared  to  visit  us,  and  that  extremely  seldom,  lest  it 
might  awaken  the  suspicions  of  our  politico-military 
despotism,  which  of  all  monsters  is  the  most  truly 
ridiculous,  cruel,  and  insupportable.  It  is  a  tiger  con- 
ducted by  a  hare. 

As  soon  as  I  arrived  in  the  country,  I  occupied  my- 
self with  my  first  and  second  Alcestis.  I  was  so  much 
absorbed  in  this  labor  that  I  forgot  the  dangers  that 
threatened  us.  These  were  not  trifling ;  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  flatter  ourselves  that  we  should  escape  from  them, 
as  they  became  each  day  more  apparent.  Perturbed  as 
my  mind  was,  I  yet  assumed  courage,  and  prosecuted 
my  usual  studies.  Arrests  the  most  arbitrary  were 
extremely  frequent,  and  always  took  place  during  the 
night.  Some  youths  of  the  first  families  of  the  city  had 
been  taken  as  hostages.  These  had  been  dragged  in 
the  middle  of  the  night  from  their  homes,  and  from  the 
arms  of  their  relatives,  and  transported  like  slaves,  to 
the  Isles  of  St.  Marguerite.  Though  a  foreigner,  I  had 


340  MEMOIRS   OF 

reasoD  to  fear  I  should  be  subjected  to  harsher  and  still 
more  cruel  treatment.  As  I  expected  that  every  night 
would  be  the  last  I  should  spend  at  my  own  house,  I 
took  every  precaution  to  avoid  being  taken  unawares, 
and  to  prevent  myself  being  maltreated.  Already  had 
French  liberty  been  proclaimed  at  Florence,  and  an- 
archy triumphed  over  worth  and  virtue.  As  for  me  I 
employed  myself  in  versification,  in  studying  and  writ- 
ing Greek,  and  in  consoling  my  female  friend.  In  this 
unfortunate  state  did  things  continue  from  the  25th  of 
March  to  the  5th  of  July,  when  the  French  left  Flor- 
ence. 

Accustomed  to  the  tranquillity  of  the  country,  we 
resolved  £0  spend  another  month  in  our  retreat,  before 
removing  with  our  books  and  furniture  to  Florence. 
My  return  to  the  city,  however,  produced  no  change  in 
the  plan  of  my  studies,  which  I  pursued  with  greater 
ardor  and  enthusiasm  than  before. 

After  the  battle  of  Nuovi  I  received  a  letter  from  the 

Marquis  of  C ,  of  Alexandria,  who  had  espoused 

the  daughter  of  my  sister.  I  was  not  acquainted  with 
him  personally,  but  merely  through  report.  He  was  a 
most  meritorious  officer,  and  had  greatly  distinguished 
himself  in  the  service  of  his  sovereign,  the  King  of 
Sardinia,  during  the  continuance  of  hostilities.  He 
informed  me  that,  having  been  dangerously  wounded, 
and  taken  prisoner,  he  had  entered  into  the  French 
service  after  the  expulsion  of  his  Sardinian  majesty  in 
January,  1799. 

I  shall  here  incidentally  recount  what  I  had  before 
forgotten  to  relate.  Previous  to  the  invasion  of  the 
French,  I  had  been  presented  to  the  King  of  Sardinia 
at  Florence.  He  had  a  double  claim  to  my  respect, 
because  he  had  been  my  sovereign,  and  was  unfortu- 


VITTORIO  ALFIERI.  341 

nate.  He  received  me  very  graciously,  and  I  was 
much  agitated  on  beholding  him  :  I  felt  keenly  on  this 
occasion,  what  I  had  never  before  experienced,  —  the 
desire  of  serving  him.  I  saw  him  abandoned,  and  per- 
ceived the  foolish  conduct  of  those  who  surrounded  him. 
I  would  have  offered  him  my  services,  had  I  been  able 
to  persuade  myself  that  he  could  have  derived  any  ad- 
vantage from  them  j  but  it  was  now  too  late.  He  retired 
to  Sardinia,  but  returned  on  affairs  assuming  a  more 
favorable  appearance,  and  remained  for  several  months 
at  Florence,  while  the  Austrians  protected  Tuscany  in 
the  name  of  the  Grand  Duke.  But  uniformly  ill- 
advised,  lie  took  no  measures  that  could  prove  either 
beneficial  to  himself  or  Piedmont.  Thus  he  was  quickly 
overwhelmed.  I  had  the  honor  of  being  again  pre- 
sented to  him  on  his  return  from  Sardinia,  and  as  at 
this  time  he  entertained  some  hopes  that  fortune  would 
yet  smile  upon  him,  1  suffered  less  regret  from  reflect- 
ing that  I  could  be  of  no  use  to  him. 

XXIX. 

WHILE  I  was  closely  occupied  in  correcting  my  four 
Greek  translations,  and  buried  in  studies,  undertaken 
perhaps  at  too  late  a  period,  the  French  again  took 
possession  of  Tuscany,  on  the  15th  of  October.  On  this 
occasion  time  was  not  allowed  me  to  retire  to  the 
country :  besides,  I  had  succeeded  in  obtaining,  as  a 
foreigner,  from  the  municipality  of  Florence,  an  ex- 
emption from  what  I  conceived  the  greatest  of  all  mis- 
fortunes, having  soldiers  billeted  in  my  house.  As 
soon  as  my  mind  ceased  to  contemplate  such  an  event, 
I  resigned  myself  to  circumstances.  I  shut  myself  up  in 
my  own  house,  and  never  went  abroad,  unless  to  take  an 


342  MEMOIRS   OF 

airing  for  two  hours  in  the  morning.  This  exorcise, 
which  my  health  rendered  indispensable,  I  took  in  the 
most  solitary  places,  and  always  without  any  attend- 
ants. But  though  I  religiously  shunned  on  all  occa- 
sions the  society  of  the  French,  they  evinced  not  such 
a  disposition  towards  me.  Unfortunately  the  French 
general  at  Florence  was  attached  to  literature.  Wish- 
ing to  become  acquainted  with  me,  he  called  several 
times  at  my  house.  I  determined,  however,  to  be 
visible  to  no  one  ;  and  instead  of  returning  his  polite- 
ness, I  took  not  the  least  notice  whatever  of  his  calls. 
After  an  interval  of  a  few  days  I  received  from  him  a 
verbal  message,  requesting  to  know  when  he  might  be 
permitted  to  wait  on  me.  Finding  that  he  persisted  in 
his  intentions,  and  unwilling  to  intrust  a  servant  with 
a  verbal  message,  which  might  not  be  faithfully  com- 
municated, I  despatched  the  following  note  :  u  If  the 
General  in  his  official  capacity  commands  his  presence, 
Vittorio  Alfieri,  who  never  resists  constituted  authority 
of  any  kind,  will  immediately  hasten  to  obey  the  or- 
der; but  if,  on  the  contrary,  he  requests  an  interview 
only  as  a  private  individual,  Alfieri  begs  leave  to  ob- 
serve, that,  being  of  a  very  retired  turn  of  mind,  he 
wishes  not  to  form  any  new  acquaintance,  and  there- 
fore entreats  the  French  general  to  hold  him  excused." 

To  this  the  general  immediately  returned  the  follow- 
ing laconic  reply :  that,  having  read  my  works,  he  had 
been  desirous  of  becoming  acquainted  with  their  author; 
but  as  that  appeared  not  to  be  consonant  to  my  wishes, 
he  would  no  farther  importune  me  on  the  subject.  In 
fact,  he  left  me  to  myself,  and  I  was  thus  freed  from  an 
interview  which  must  necessarily  have  proved  no  less 
embarrassing  than  painful  to  my  feelings. 

In  the  mean  time  Piedmont,  having  been  revolution- 


VITTORIO   ALFIEPJ.  343 

ized,  and  wishing  to  ape  their  masters  in  everything, 
transformed  their  Royal  Academy  of  Sciences  into  a 
National  Institute,  modelled  on  the  plan  of  that  of 
Paris,  in  which  the  belles  lettres  were  united  to  the 
fine  arts.  It  pleased  these  gentlemen,  whose  designa- 
tions I  am  unacquainted  with,  since  my  friend  Caluso 
had  been  dismissed  from  his  office  of  secretary  to  the 
academy,  to  nominate  me  one  of  its  members.  This 
circumstance  was  immediately  notified  in  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  me  on  the  occasion.  Having  been  previously 
informed  by  the  Abbe  of  the  honor  they  meant  to  con- 
fer on  me,  I  returned  the  letter  unopened,  and  caused 
them  to  be  informed  that  I  was  little  solicitous  of  ma- 
triculation, either  in  their  society  or  any  other;  and, 
in  short,  that  I  would  never  enroll  myself  among  any 
body  of  men  who  had  excluded  such  characters  as 
Cardinal  Gerdil,  Count  Balbo,  and  Chevalier  Morozzo, 
merely  because  they  were  sincere  royalists. 

Because  I  have  never  been  a  royalist,  it  by  no  means 
follows  that  I  must  belong  to  the  class  who  style  them- 
selves democrats.  Their  republic  is  not  conformable 
to  my  fancy;  and  I  declare  that  I  am,  and  shall  ever 
be,  hostile  to  all  their  opinions.  The  irritation  I  expe- 
rienced on  this  occasion  once  more  caused  me  to  in- 
fringe my  vow,  and  I  composed  fourteen  verses,  which 
I  transmitted  to  iny  friend  Caluso.  I  did  not  keep  a 
copy  of  them,  nor  ever  shall  preserve  those  which  re- 
sentment or  any  other  passion  may  impel  me  to  write. 

I  did  not  display  equal  resolution  in  the  month  of 
September,  1799,  in  resisting  a  newly  awakened  im- 
pulse, or,  more  properly  speaking,  an  old  one  revived, 
which  I  experienced  during  several  days,  and  to  which 
I  at  length  found  myself  forced  to  yield.  Having  al- 
ways entertained  the  idea  of  trying  my  powers  in  the 


344  MEMOIRS   OF 

composition  of  comedy,  I  sketched  the  plan  of  six  all 
at  once.  These  I  determined  to  augment  to  twelve ; 
but  repeated  disappointments,  chagrin,  and  particularly 
my  unremitted  study  of  a  language  so  extremely  copious 
as  the  Greek,  had  so  exhausted  my  powers  of  concep- 
tion, that  I  believed  it  would  thenceforward  be  utterly 
impossible  to  compose  any  work  requiring  much  men- 
tal exertion :  thus  I  abandoned  the  idea.  I  know  not 
how  my  mind  was  led  to  enter  on  this  species  of  com- 
position, during  the  most  sorrowful  period  of  my  life, 
when  we  had  fallen  into  a  state  of  the  most  abject 
slavery,  from  which  it  was  impossible  to  escape ;  at  a 
period  too  when  both  time  and  opportunity  were  denied 
me  to  execute  what  it  was  my  wish  to  undertake. 
Suddenly  a  poetizing  spirit  animated  my  mind,  and  in 
one  of  my  excursions  I  almost  simultaneously  con- 
ceived my  four  first  comedies,  which,  in  the  ground- 
work, form  only  one,  since  they  all  tend  to  the  same 
object  by  different  means.  On  returning  home,  I 
sketched  them,  and  on  the  following  day  I  essayed  my 
strength  in  others  of  a  different  kind.  I  conceived  the 
plan  of  two  others,  the  first  of  which  had  no  relation 
to  Italian  manners,  while  the  second  was  truly  an 
Italian  comedy  of  the  present  day.  I  wished  to 
demonstrate  by  this  piece  that  I  was  competent  to 
delineate  the  manners  of  the  present  age.  But  since 
these-  change,  it  is  necessary  that  he  who  wishes  his 
comedies  to  be  handed  down  to  posterity,  should  con- 
fine himself  to  depict  the  follies  of  man  in  the  aggre- 
gate, and  not  those  of  men  of  any  particular  country, 
or  existing  at  any  particular  period  ;  otherwise,  the 
spirit  of  comedy  and  the  fame  of  an  author  must  evap- 
orate with  the  characters  and  manners  he  has  described. 
Hence,  these  six  comedies  may  be  divided  into  three 


YITTORIO   ALFIERI.  345 

different  kinds.  The  four  first  are  adapted  to  every 
a^e  and  country  ;  the  second  is  a  production  altogether 
fanciful  and  poetical ;  while  the  sixth  may  be  consid- 
ered as  a  true  Italian  comedy  of  the  present  day. 

XXX. 

THE  year  1800,  which  had  appeared  to  my  mind 
unusually  tedious,  at  length  passed  away;  and  early 
in  1801,  through  the  multiplied  faults  of  the  allied 
powers,  a  peace  was  concluded,  which  still  continues. 

Before  closing  my  long  literary  career,  I  wished  to 
try  my  remaining  powers  in  the  development  of  my 
six  comedies.  I  wrote  them  in  the  same  order  in 
which  I  had  conceived  them,  in  the  same  space  of 
time,  and  without  interruption :  on  each  I  spent  six 
days  at  most.  The  consequence  of  such  incessant 
mental  exertion  was  a  severe  indisposition,  which  pre- 
vented me  finishing  the  fifth.  I  was  seized  with  an 
inflammatory  affection  of  the  head,  to  which  was 
superadded  the  gout,  which  fixed  itself  in  my  lungs 
and  caused  me  to  spit  blood.  On  this  I  found  myself 
compelled  to  suspend  my  labor,  and  to  attempt  the  re- 
moval of  my  malady.  Though  extremely  violent,  it 
was  but  of  short  duration.  My  convalescence  was, 
however,  tedious,  and  I  remained  long  in  a  valetudi- 
nary state.  It  was  only  towards  the  end  of  Septem- 
ber that  I  felt  myself  enabled  to  resume  my  fifth  and 
sixth  comedies.  They  were  all,  however,  developed 
early  in  October.  As  soon  as  this  was  accomplished, 
I  found  my  mind  relieved  from  an  insufferable  burden. 

As  on  the  return  of  peace,  which  restored  in  some 
degree  tranquillity  to  Italy,  the  French  had  abolished 
the  use  of  paper  money,  as  well  at  Rome  as  in  Pied- 


346  MEMOIRS   OF 

mont,  we  no  longer  suffered  those  pecuniary  embar- 
rassments to  which  we  had  been  subjected  during  the 
last  five  years. 

In  consequence  of  this  happy  change  in  our  circum- 
stances, wre  purchased  four  horses,  one  of  which  was 
intended  for  my  use.  Since  my  abode  in  Paris,  I  had 
neither  kept  horses  nor  carriages  of  my  own,  but  hired 
them  occasionally.  In  the  mean  time  experience  and 
public  misfortunes,  as  well  as  so  many  examples 
before  my  eyes  of  others  subjected  to  a  harder  fate 
than  mine,  taught  me  moderation.  Who  would  sup- 
pose that  I,  who  was  formerly  scarcely  contented  with 
ten  or  fifteen  horses,  should  now  think  even  four  too 
many  ? 

Not  only  satiated  and  disgusted  with  everything, 
but  extremely  temperate  in  my  mode  of  life,  always 
dressing  in  black,  and  expending  little  money  except 
in  the  purchasing  of  books,  I  considered  myself  ex- 
tremely rich,  and  took  a  pride  in  contemplating  that  I 
should  be  one  half  poorer  at  the  time  of  my  death 
than  I  was  on  entering  the  world.  These  were  the 
reasons  which  induced  me  to  disregard  the  offers  made 
to  me  by  my  nephew  C—  -  through  the  medium  of 
my  sister.  He  wished  to  exert  his  interest  at  Paris, 
where  he  had  fixed  his  residence,  in  order  to  obtain  for 
me  a  restitution  of  my  confiscated  property. 

Like  the  grasshopper,  which  chirps  only  in  warm 
wreather,  I  began  the  versification  of  my  comedies  in 
the  summer  of  1802,  with  an  ardor  and  enthusiasm 
equal  to  what  I  felt  when  sketching  and  developing 
them.  During  this  year  I  experienced  the  injurious 
effects  of  too  intense  application  to  study.  1  have 
already  mentioned  that  I  never  encroached  on  the 
three  hours  in  the  morning,  which  I  each  day  dedi- 


VITTORIO  ALFIERI.  347 

rated  to  reading  and  study,  but  I  employed  the  rest  of 
the  day,  and  even  those  periods  which  were  assigned 
to  exercise,  on  my  literary  compositions.  After  com- 
pleting the  versification  of  two  of  my  comedies,  I  was 
again  attacked  with  an  inflammation  of  the  head,  and 
my  whole  body  became  covered  with  boils.  These 
would  not  have  excited  much  attention,  if  the  largest 
of  them,  which  was  situated  on  the  outer  ankle  of  the 
left  leg,  had  not  been  complicated  with  an  rrysipela- 
tous  affection,  and  accompanied  with  such  violent  pain 
as  to  confine  me  to  my  bed  during  fifteen  days.  On 
this  account  I  was  forced  to  suspend  my  comedies, 
and  submit  patiently  to  confinement. 


XXXI. 

IT  is  now  time  to  terminate  my  garrulity,  and  to 
bring  this  autobiographical  sketch  to  a  conclusion. 
The  maladies  under  which  I  suffered,  during  the  two 
last  summers,  have  admonished  me  to  bring  my  liter- 
ary labors  to  a  close.  I  here,  therefore,  conclude  my 
fourth  epoch,  fully  convinced  that,  did  I  even  possess 
the  inclination  to  enter  on  any  new  works,  I  should 
find  myself  deficient  in  energy  to  execute  them.  If  it 
please  God  to  spare  my  life  during  my  twelfth  lustrum, 
I  shall  employ  it  in  the  correction  of  my  works  and 
translations.  Should  I  survive  that  period,  I  shall  rest 
from  my  labors,  and  only  prosecute  my  studies ;  and  if 
at  any  time  I  may  cast  a  casual  glance  on  any  of  my 
productions,  however  I  may  attempt  to  improve  the 
style,  I  shall  add  nothing.  The  only  labor  in  which  I 
mean  to  engage,  after  passing  my  sixtieth  year,  is  the 
translation  of  Cicero  on  old  age.  I  shall  dedicate  this 


348  MEMOIRS   OF 

work,  which  is  so  conformable  to  my  years,  to  my  fe- 
male friend,  with  whom  I  have  participated  in  all  the 
pleasures  and  sorrows  of  life. 

As  the  printing  of  my  unedited  works  during  my  life- 
time would  be  attended  with  much  fatigue,  and  subject 
me  to  the  trouble  of  revision,  I  shall  only  leave  behind 
me  a  correct  manuscript  of  those  which  in  my  opinion 
merit  to  be  published.  All  the  others  I  intend  to  de- 
stroy. In  like  manner,  should  I  be  unable  to  give  the 
last  polish  to  my  memoirs,  I  shall  commit  them  to  the 
flames.  Being  now  about  to  enter  upon  my  fifth  epoch, 
and  second  childhood,  I  shall,  in  order  to  amuse  the 
reader,  recount  my  last  act  of  imbecility.  Since  the 
period  when  I  terminated  my  comedies,  I  have  regarded 
myself  as  an  individual  whose  actions  could  not  fail  to 
prove  interesting  to  posterity.  Having  uniformly  per- 
severed, notwithstanding  every  obstacle,  in  the  study 
of  the  Greek  tongue,  as  soon  as  I  became  capable  of 
comprehending,  and  of  reading  with  facility  Pindar,  the 
Grecian  dramatists,  and  especially  the  divine  Homer, 
and  of  translating  them,  either  literally  into  Latin  or 
into  tolerable  Italian,  I  piqued  myself  not  a  little  on 
the  difficulties  I  had  surmounted  in  the  interval  be- 
tween my  forty- seventh  and  fifty-fourth  year.  As  every 
kind  of  labor  merits  some  recompense,  I  conceived  it 
was  meet  I  should  obtain  one,  and  that  it  ought  to  be 
appropriate,  honorable,  and  even  splendid.  With  this 
view  I  invented  a  collar,  on  which  were  engraven  the 
names  of  twenty-three  poets,  as  well  ancient  as  modern. 
To  the  collar  is  appended  a  cameo  of  Homer,  and  on 
the  exergue  two  Greek  verses  of  my  own  composition, 
and  which  I  afterwards  rendered  into  Italian.  I  sub- 
mitted both  the  original  arid  the  translation  to  the  in- 
spection of  the  Abbe  Caluso ;  the  Greek,  in  order  that 


VITTORIO   ALFIEKI.  349 

he  might  inform  me  whether  I  had  committed  any  sole- 
cism, or  any  error  in  prosody  ;  the  Italian,  with  a  view 
to  learn  whether  I.  had  not  sufficiently  softened  down 
what  might  he  reckoned  too  hold  and  intrusive  in  the 
Greek.  An  author,  it  is  well  known,  may  speak  of 
himself  with  greater  latitude  in  the  dead  than  in  the 
living  languages.  As  my  friend  approved  these  verses, 
I  have  transcribed  them  in  order  to  their  preservation.* 

As  it  was  my  wish  to  render  the  collar  of  the  order 
as  superb  as  possible,  I  caused  it  to  be  formed  of  gold, 
and  enriched  with  jewels  and  precious  stones.  I  de- 
clared myself  a  member  of  this  new  order,  of  which  I 
have  at  least  the  merit  of  being  the  inventor.  Should 
impartial  posterity  decree  that  I  am  not  worthy  of  being 
a  member  of  this  institution,  it  will  not,  however,  with- 
hold that  honorary  distinction  from  others  who  may  be 
deemed  better  entitled  to  it.  Farewell  then,  reader,  till 
we  meet  again;  if  ever  that  should  happen,  I  may  then 
probably,  like  a  garrulous  old  man,  be  even  more  given 
to  babble  than  I  have  been  towards  the  close  of  the 
fourth  epoch,  —  manhood.  * 

VITTORIO  ALFIERI. 

FLORENCE,  May  14,  1803. 


*  A.VTOV  TroiTjtras  'AA0Tjpio5  'nrne'  'O/iiTjpov 
KoipaftKT)*;  TI/ATJI/  rjA^aye  fleiorepai/. 

'Torse  inventava  Alfieri  uii  Ordin  vero 
IsTel  farsi  ci  stesso  Cavalier  di  Omero. 


LETTER 

FROM  THE   ABBE  CALTJSO  TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF 
ALBANY, 

CONTAINING   SOME    PARTICULARS    RESPECTING  THE  AUTHOR'S 
DEATH. 

|  ApAM,  —  Since  you  have  intrusted  to  my  care 
the  autobiographical  sketch  of  our  highly 
esteemed  friend,  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of 
communicating  to  you  with  as  much  brevity 
as  possible  my  thoughts  on  the  subject,  and  of  evincing 
the  high  sense  I  entertain  of  the  honor  you  have  con- 
ferred on  me.  Few  were  better  acquainted  than  my- 
self with  the  mind  and  character  of  this  singular  man  ; 
and  I  never  for  a  moment  doubted  that  he  would  im- 
partially execute  the  task  he  had  undertaken,  without 
becoming  either  tiresome  or  ridiculous  :  but  he  has 
even  surpassed  my  expectations  by  his  amiable  candor 
and  dignified  simplicity.  His  style  is  easy  and  unaf- 
fected, and  the  portrait  he  has  drawn  of  himself  exhib- 
its a  striking  likeness,  and  bears  evident  marks  of 
being  traced  by  the  hand  of  a  master.  In  it  we  behold 
this  exalted  man,  such  as  he  really  was,  equally  ardent 
and  singular  in  respect  to  his  natural  dispositions,  as  by 
those  efforts  which  he  made  in  order  to  attain  what- 
ever appeared  to  him  dignified  and  praiseworthy.  It 


VITTORIO   ALFIERI.  351 

is  easy  to  observe  that  whenever  he  suffered  himself  to 
be  led  into  extremes,  his  errors  originated  from  the 
most  laudable  feelings.  I  cannot  give  a  better  proof 
of  this  than  the  opinion  he  had  formed  of  me;  I  owe 
it  only  to  the  most  lively  friendship ;  it  could  be  dic- 
tated by  nothing  else. 

To  the  other  causes  of  sorrow  for  the  sudden  and 
premature  death  of  our  esteemed  friend,  must  be  joined 
the  regret  that,  among  all  the  works  which  he  has  left 
more  or  less  imperfect,  these  memoirs  have  not  re- 
ceived the  last  corrections  which  he  would  unques- 
tionably have  bestowed  on  them,  had  he  reached  that 
age  at  which  he  proposed  either  to  polish  or  commit 
them  to  the  flames.  To  this  fate  doubtless  he  would  not 
have  condemned  them.  What  right  then  have  we  to 
treat  them  with  such  severity ;  how  could  we  think  of 
depriving  ourselves  of  a  picture  exhibiting  so  correct  a 
view  of  all  his  actions  and  eccentricities?  I  cannot, 
however,  madam,  but  extol  that  anxious  solicitude 
with  which  you  watch  over  these  memoirs,  and  your 
determination  of  withholding  them  from  every  one, 
excepting  a  few  select  friends,  for  the  purpose  of  ena- 
bling them  to  favor  the  public  with  a  more  ample 
account  of  this  illustrious  man.  This  is  a  task  I  my- 
self dare  not  undertake,  and  I  feel  the  most  lively  re- 
gret on  that  account,  but  unfortunately  the  will  and 
the  power  to  execute  are  not  always  in  accordance  with 
each  other. 

To  complete  the  biographical  sketch  which  our  wor- 
thy friend  has  left  behind  him,  I  think  it  only  necessary 
to  subjoin  what  I  have  extracted  from  the  letter  with 
which  you  honored  me.  No  one,  madam,  could  be 
better  acquainted  with  every  circumstance  relative  to 
the  last  moments  of  his  life  than  yourself,  who  never 


352  MEMOIRS   OF 

for  a  moment  quitted  him,  and  devoted  so  much  of  your 
attention  towards  him. 

Count  Alfieri,  some  time  previous  to  his  death,  had 
relinquished  all  his  literary  pursuits,  excepting  his 
comedies,  the  completion  of  which  solely  engaged  his 
attention  ;  while  at  the  same  time  his  chief  amusement 
consisted  in  musing  on  the  design  and  motto  for  the 
collar  of  the  order  of  Homer,  in  which  he  was  anxious 
to  enroll  himself  a  member.  In  the  month  of  April, 
however,  he  was  attacked  by  a  fit  of  the  gout,  which 
always  tormented  him  on  every  change  of  season. 
This  paroxysm  was  unusually  severe,  probably  be- 
cause it  attacked  him  when  worn  out  with  incessant 
labor,  and  when  he  no  longer  possessed  that  salutary 
vigor  of  constitution  which  could  alone  repel  it  from 
the  vital  organs.  From  having  found,  during  a  course 
of  several  years,  that  the  state  of  his  digestive  func- 
tions was  not  so  good  as  formerly,  he  had  been  led  to 
suppose  that  in  order  to  calm,  or  at  least  moderate,  the 
violence  of  the  gout,  it  behooved  him  to  diminish  the 
quantum  of  his  food,  moderate  as  it  was.  What,  more- 
over, served  to  confirm  him  in  this  opinion  was,  that  he 
uniformly  found  his  spirits  on  fasting  more  vivacious 
and  better  adapted  for  study. 

In  vain,  madam,  did  your  tender  solicitude  for  his 
welfare  suggest  the  danger  of  such  a  course,  and  ad- 
monish him  to  desist  from  so  abstemious  a  regimen, 
on  observing  him  become  more  emaciated  every  day. 
Notwithstanding  these  urgent  solicitations,  he  still  re- 
mained inflexible  in  his  purpose  5  and,  dreading  lest 
death  should  occur  to  prevent  the  completion  of  his 
comedies,  devoted  his  whole  time  to  their  correction. 

Not  contented  with  this  toil,  arid  stimulated  by  the 
desire  of  amassing  knowledge,  he  persevered  in  pursu- 


VITTOEIO   ALFIERI.  353 

ing  his  usual  morning  studies.  The  efforts  which  he 
made  were  greater  in  proportion  as  his  health  declined 
and  he  became  more  feeble ;  disgusted  with  every- 
thing but  study,  which  constituted  his  chief  amuse- 
ment in  his  exhausted  state,  he  pursued  his  accus- 
tomed labors  till  the  3d  of  October  with  unremitting 
assiduity.  On  that  day,  having  arisen  with  an  appear- 
ance of  better  health  and  spirits  than  usual,  he  went 
out  after  his  morning  studies  to  take  an  airing  in  his 
phaeton.  Scarcely,  however,  had  he  entered  it,  than 
he  was  seized  with  a  cold  shivering.  Imagining  he 
would  shake  it  off  by  walking,  he  alighted,  but  was 
immediately  attacked  by  an  acute  pain  in  his  bowels, 
which  prevented  him  from  proceeding.  The  fever 
under  which  he  labored,  on  returning  home,  was  ex- 
tremely violent  during  the  day,  and  abated  not  till 
the  evening.  Though  tormented  by  incessant  reach- 
ing, he  passed  the  night  without  much  suffering,  and 
on  the  following  day  left  his  apartment  and  went 
down  to  dinner,  but  had  no  appetite.  He  dozed  much 
during  the  remainder  of  the  day,  but  was  extremely 
restless  throughout  the  night.  On  the  morning  of  the 
5th  he  indicated  a  wish  to  take  the  air,  but  was  pre- 
vented by  the  day  proving  rainy.  In  the  course  of  the 
evening  he  took  his  chocolate  according  to  custom,  and 
apparently  with  much  pleasure.  On  the  night  of  the 
6th  the  pains  in  his  bowels  returned,  and  sinapisms 
wore  applied  by  the  orders  of  his  physician  to  the  soles 
of  his  feet.  As  soon,  however,  as  they  began  to  pro- 
duce some  effect,  he  tore  them  off,  dreading  lest  the 
vesications  resulting  from  their  application  might  ren- 
der him  incapable  of  walking.  During  the  follow- 
ing day  Alfieri  appeared  to  be  somewhat  better,  and 
was  unwilling  to  remain  in  bed.  On  the  morning  of 


354  MEMOIRS   OF 

the  7th  his  physician  in  ordinary  requested  that  an- 
other member  of  the  faculty  might  be  called  in  to  his 
aid.  This  was  accordingly  complied  with,  and  it  was 
agreed,  on  consultation,  that  fomentations  and  vesica- 
tories  should  be  applied  to  the  lower  extremities.  The 
patient,  however,  would  not  comply  with  this  advice, 
being  continually  haunted  by  the  fear  of  not  being  able 
to  walk.  He  swallowed  some  opium,  which  mitigated 
his  pains  and  gave  him  a  tranquil  night.  The  repose, 
however,  thus  obtained,  was  accompanied  by  some 
raving  and  alienation  of  mind.  The  recollection  of 
past  events,  which  had  formerly  made  a  lively  impres- 
sion on  his  mind,  recurred  to  his  imagination.  He 
spoke  of  his  studies  and  of  his  labors  for  thirty  years ; 
and  what  is  very  remarkable,  he  repeated  in  succession 
a  great  number  of  verses  from  Hesiod,  whom  he  had 
never  read  but  once.  You  were  by  his  side,  madam, 
and  it  was  from  himself  that  you  learned  this  last  cir- 
cumstance. It  does  not,  however,  appear  that  the  idea 
of  death,  with  which  he  had  long  familiarized  himself, 
occurred  to  his  mind  at  this  moment,  or  that  he  sus- 
pected his  end  was  so  near  at  hand.  This  we  are  in- 
duced to  believe,  because  he  said  not  a  word  to  you  on 
the  subject,  though  you  never  quitted  him,  excepting 
at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  contrary  to  the 
advice  of  his  physicians  he  obstinately  persisted  in  tak- 
ing oil  and  magnesia.  This  remedy  appears  to  have 
been  productive  of  much  mischief,  since  two  hours  had 
scarcely  elapsed  from  his  taking  it  till  his  life  was  in 
imminent  danger,  and  on  your  returning  to  his  apart- 
ment his  respiration  was  become  so  laborious  as  to 
threaten  instant  suffocation.  He  arose,  however,  from 
his  chair,  and,  approaching  the  bed,  leaned  on  it ;  and 
a  few  moments  afterwards  his  vision  became  obscure, 


VITTOPJO   ALFIERI.  355 

and  he  expired.  During  his  illness  he  neglected  neither 
the  duties  nor  the  consolations  of  religion,  but  as  no 
one  suspected  that  his  malady  would  make  such  rapid 
strides,  he  was  not  much  importuned  on  this  topic  ;  so 
that  his  confessor  arrived  not  in  time  to  give  him  abso- 
lution. We  are  fully  assured,  however,  that  the  count 
was  not  unprepared  for  this  awful  event,  since  his 
mind  was  often  occupied  with  the  thoughts  of  death, 
and  he  frequently  discoursed  on  the  subject.  Thus 
terminated  the  life  of  this  illustrious  man,  on  the  morn- 
ing of  Saturday,  the  8th  of  October,  1803,  when  he 
had  completed  the  fifty-fifth  year  of  his  age. 

He  was  interred  near  the  altar  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
in  the  Church  of  S.  Croce,  where  repose  the  ashes  of 
so  many  illustrious  men.  A  simple  tombstone  has 
only  been  raised  over  his  grave,  till  the  mausoleum, 
which  you,  madam,  intend  to  erect  to  his  memory  be 
finished,  and  placed  near  that  of  Michael  Angelo.  Ca- 
nova  is  already  employed  on  it ;  and  the  work  of 
such  an  artist  must  necessarily  exhibit  a  model  of 
perfection. 

I  could  here  wish  to  scatter  a  few  flowers  over  the 
grave  of  my  departed  friend  ;  I  could  wish  to  point  out 
the  irreparable  loss  which  we,  in  common  with  all 
Italy,  have  sustained  by  his  death  ;  but  it  is  necessary 
to  restrain  my  tears,  and  this  would  only  make  them 
flow  more  abundantly.  Let  us  then  rather  endeavor 
to  find  consolation  in  the  reflection  that  his  memory 
will  not  perish,  but  be  immortalized  in  the  works  he 
has  left  behind  him.  We  must  also  seek  consolation 
in  the  idea  that,  though  he  did  not  live  to  bestow  the 
last  polish  on  these  memoirs,  he  has  throughout  drawn 
a  just  picture  of  himself. 

No  one  who  reads  this  life  of  Alfieri  with  impartial- 


356  MEMOIRS   OF 

ity  can  err  respecting  the  judgment  they  ought  to  form 
of  his  character.  If  his  sarcastic  severity,  which  gave 
offence  to  many,  had  only  heen  manifest  in  the  work 
in  question,  you  would,  I  think,  madam,  have  ,con- 
sulted  his  fame  in  withholding  its  perusal  from  every 
one  but  a  few  select  friends :  but  as  the  sentiments 
which  have  created  him  so  many  enemies  are  published 
in  several  other  of  his  works ;  as  the  lustre  of  his  repu- 
tation was  alone  sufficient  to  excite  envy  against  him  j 
as,  moreover,  it  is  probable  that  these  papers,  however 
preserved,  may  fall  into  the  hands  of  ill-designing  men, 
I  conceive  it  necessary  to  counteract  the  impression 
which  they  might  otherwise  produce. 

Aliieri  is  entitled  to  transcendent  praise,  not  only  as 
a  writer,  'but  as  a  man.  Simple  and  irreproachable 
manners,  which  few  even  possess  in  the  middle  ranks 
of  life,  are  seldom  looked  for  in  the  higher  circles  of 
society.  Not  satisfied,  however,  with  possessing  such 
virtues  himself,  he  uniformly  inculcated  them  in  his 
writings  ;  and  among  the  sublime  affections  which 
animated  his  soul,  he  beheld  nothing  but  country  and 
civil  liberty.  A  philosopher,  who  exercises  no  profes- 
sion nor  employment  in  a  regal  government,  is  infinitely 
more  independent  than  even  the  monarch  himself.  For 
my  part,  I  have  never  desired  any  other  liberty  than 
that  enjoyed  under  a  monarchial  government,  nor  have 
I  ever  disdained  to  conduct  myself  like  a  faithful  sub- 
ject. Many  have,  however,  with  too  much  facility, 
adopted  the  opinion  that  the  enjoyment  of  civil  liberty 
is  incompatible  with  a  government  in  which  everything 
is  regulated  by  the  will  of  one  who  styles  himself  the 
master  of  his  subjects.  Thus  did  Alfieri  deceive  him- 
self j  thus  it  was  that  his  mind  became  imbued  with 
those  enthusiastic  arid  patriotic  sentiments  which  he 


VITTORIO   ALFIEKI.  357 

endeavored  to  diffuse  throughout  Italy.  But  though 
ardently  desirous  of  beholding  the  revival  of  Italian 
liberty,  he  yet  wished  to  separate  himself  from  those 
abandoned  men  who,  like  him,  had  evinced  themselves 
the  warm  partisans  of  liberty,  and  who  by  their  crimes 
had  even  rendered  its  name  odious.  Philosophers  will 
tell  us  that  we  ought  not  to  confound  the  bad  with  the 
virtuous,  and  that  nothing  can  justify  his  hatred  to- 
wards a  whole  nation.  But  we  must  consider  Alfieri 
like  an  impassioned  lover,  who  finds  it  impossible  to 
be  just  to  the  enemies  of  his  mistress.  We  must,  more- 
over, consider  him  as  the  Demosthenes  of  Italy, oppos- 
ing his  Philippics  to  the  Macedonian  phalanx.  So  far 
from  wishing  to  be  considered  as  his  apologist  on  that 
account,  I  am  of  opinion  that  the  reputation  of  this 
illustrious  man  requires  not  my  feeble  support.  I 
merely  request  indulgence  for  a  fault  which  had  its 
origin  in  the  best  feelings  of  the  heart,  the  love  of  his 
country.  You  are  at  perfect  liberty,  madam,  to  make 
what  use  of  my  letter  you  may  think  proper,  and  I 
entreat  you  to  accept  of  my  profound  respect  and 

veneration. 

THOMAS  VALPERGA-CALUSO. 

FLORENCE,  July  21,  1804. 


THE    END. 


Cambridge :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow.  &  Co. 


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